


Happily Ever After

by PinkGerberDaisies



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cinderella AU, DameRey, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn, Some angst, Strangers to Lovers, Taking liberties with certain characters, ever after au, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 125,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/pseuds/PinkGerberDaisies
Summary: Rey is a vibrant young woman who is forced into servitude after the death of her father. Rey's stepmother is a heartless Baroness who forces her to do the cooking and cleaning while she tries to marry off her own two daughters, and Rey's only source of joy comes from her friendships with the other servants and the neighbor boy, Finn. But all is not lost, and Rey's life begins to take a wonderful turn when she meets the charming Prince Poe.A retelling of the 1998 movie "Ever After."
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 224
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter One: The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adore the movie Ever After. It's a little cheesy, but heartwarming and sweet. I rewatched it over the weekend and thought it would make for a fun Damerey AU, so I am attempting to convert it into one. Some scenes and dialogue will be taken from the movie, but I'm hoping to flesh it out a bit and add some more depth as we go along. 
> 
> I've taken some liberties with the characters - the other servants are pulled from the movie, whereas the stepmother and sisters are the Ticos from the sequel trilogy (Paige and Rose were the only sister pair I could think of!). Hopefully since this is an AU nobody will mind too much. 
> 
> XOXO!

**Chapter One: The Prologue**

_Once upon a time, there lived a young girl who loved her father very much._

The first golden rays of sunlight peek over the treetops, casting long beams of light across the blossoming gardens and the long drive leading up to the manor and highlighting the last vestiges of morning mist still clinging to the ground. It gives everything in sight a warm, buttery hue, a portent of good things to come, and Rey bounces on her toes as she waits impatiently at the window.

“Calm down, child.” Her governess Paulette makes a tsking noise with her tongue, but Rey can hear the smile in it even as Paulette struggles to get the brush through her long, tangled brown hair. The bouncing and jumping around and running from one window to the next isn’t helping matters any, but Rey can’t seem to make herself stop. She’s far too excited to sit still. “You need to look your best for the Baroness’s arrival. You want to make a good impression, don’t you? _Rey!_ ”

Rey ducks out from Paulette’s hands, the hairbrush clattering loudly on the stone floor, and dives over the bed - scrambling through the thick brocade blankets and silken bedsheets until she’s safely on the other side. There had been a faint rumble coming from the direction of the road, and she throws open the window to try and determine if it was the familiar sound of her father’s horse or merely their neighbor’s cart as it rolls down the road towards the market.

“Shush, you pigs!” She cheerfully calls down to the squealing animals in the pen below, happily eating their breakfast and oblivious to the utter turmoil inside the house. “Don’t you know what today is?”

“They seem to know better than you do,” Paulette laughs, “For they’re the ones actually doing as they’re told. Won’t you sit still? You’re not even dressed yet.” 

"Oh Paulette,” Rey sighs, gripping the stone windowsill and willing herself to stand there long enough for Paulette to finish brushing and braiding her hair, “I can hardly be expected to sit still today, of all days. I’m getting a mother, and _two_ sisters!”

“Yes!” Paulette picks up Rey’s best dress – a pretty green velvet one that her father had brought home from his last business trip – from where it had fallen off the bed onto the floor in the scuffle, and holds it out for Rey to step into. “It’s going to be very exciting around here, what with a Baroness and all.”

Rey curls her stockinged toes against the woven rug beneath her feet, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands while trying to wait patiently for Paulette to finish tying up the strings of the dress over her shift. “I hope she likes me.”

“Of course she’ll like you, child,” Paulette presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head before smoothing out the wrinkles in the dress, “How could she not?”

“Master deserves some happiness after all this time.” Louise, the housekeeper, bustles into the room with an armful of fresh linens – hastily stacking them away in the closet. Rey is fairly certain the older woman came with the house when it was built hundred of years ago and somehow hasn’t aged since. Louise was a servant first to her great-grandfather, and although she’s been told that was when Louise was a little girl, Rey doesn’t believe it. She simply has always existed, just as she is. “Bringing up an adopted child on his own. The Baroness must be lovely, and –“ She walks over and bops Rey on the nose, making her giggle, “She will _love_ you. Just be the little angel I know is in there somewhere.”

“And don’t go chewing on the bones at dinner and give yourself away,” Paulette adds with a knowing smirk, and Rey covers her mouth to hide her laughter.

One can hardly help it when they’re hungry, can they? And Rey feels like she’s _always_ hungry. It’s a natural consequence when one spends most of their days out frolicking through the fields and climbing trees and riding horses that are entirely too big for her small eight-year-old frame.

Pebbles clatter against the far window, and Rey tugs free from Paulette again, ignoring her protests and running over to the glass. It’s no surprise when she finds her best friend Finn staring up at her with a grin – waving wildly when she undoes the latch and leans dangerously far out over the ledge to talk to him.

“Come down and see what I’ve brought!” He points at the burlap sack at his feet, and curiosity flares inside her, hot and quick, before she smothers it back down.

“Finn, I told you – not today!” She shouts back with a frown. It’s tempting, the idea of joining him for what promises to be a day of adventure – pretending to be knights or rogues or sailors – and she’d bet that the bag he’s brought contains the delicious red apples his family grows in their orchard, but today is a very big day.

He cocks his head, taking in her neat appearance and clearly feeling befuddled by what he finds. “You look like a girl!”

“That’s what I am, halfwit!” Rey tosses back with a laugh.

“Yeah,” He shrugs, “But today you look it!”

Unable to resist the taunt, Rey puts her hands on her hips and confidently yells, “Boy or girl, I can still whip you!”

“Ha!” Finn pulls a face and takes off running and, well, what’s a girl supposed to do but rise to the challenge?

Ignoring the please of her servants, Rey darts out of the room, down the stairs, past Maurice as he brings in an extra load of firewood, and out into the courtyard where she can see Finn’s fading form as he takes off through the trees.

“Oh no you don’t!” Rey mutters, picking up the skirts of her dress and taking off after him. She might be small, but she’s scrappy and fast, and it doesn’t take long before she’s hot on Finn’s heels.

“I challenge you!” Finn grabs onto the trunk of the nearest tree, using his weight to swing around in a circle and face her before picking up one of the long thin branches from off the ground. It’s really more of a switch than anything, but Rey understands his intention immediately.

“A duel?” She arches her eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across her face, “Really?”

“You’re not afraid, are you?” He finds another similarly shaped stick and tosses it to her, and Rey catches it with ease – testing the weight of it in her hand and finding a good grip.

“Of you? Never.” She takes her stance, planting her feet just like her father taught her, and holds the weapon aloft like the world’s finest sword.

Finn mimics her pose, a matching smirk upon his face. “Winner gets the apples?”

“Agreed.”

Finn moves with all the brute force of a boy, relying on his larger frame and bigger muscles from laboring in the fields to give him the advantage over tiny Rey, but she’s used to being his sparring partner, and her father has taught her well. It isn’t about size or power, but speed of hand.

It’s about outthinking your opponent.

His stick comes down hard, and Rey stumbles as she parries it – falling to the side and catching herself on a tree trunk. He advances again, and Rey uses the tree to shield her while she catches her breath and examines their terrain for weaknesses she can exploit.

She has to take care not to let Finn catch wind of her plotting. The second he thinks she’s up to something he’ll be more alert and the game will be over. Subtlety is key, and so Rey only looks around for a second before jumping back into battle.

They alternate parries and lunges like a messily choreographed dance, neither of them able to keep from laughing long enough to truly exhibit any skill, but they’re well-matched enough that the dance continues for many minutes – long enough for Rey to catch sight of the fallen log a few meters away.

It will be tricky, but if she can manage to shift Finn over enough she might be able to get him to trip over the log, winning her the battle.

Destination in sight, Rey begins a series of coordinated attacks – bringing her stick down repeatedly on Finn’s righthand side so that he’s forced to move left, exactly how she wants. It takes a few minutes, during which Rey nearly takes a hit to the arm that would have meant his triumph and she only manages to catch at the last second, but eventually he gets into position – seemingly unaware of her secret plan.

With a taunting grin, she swings her stick around, ducking low to aim for his legs, and Finn reacts exactly how she hoped he would. In his effort to dodge the blow, he jumps backwards – and promptly tumbles over the log and into the mud. The resounding splat making Rey crow in triumph.

“I said I could still whip you in a dress!” She grins, holding out her hand to help him up and giggling at his wide eyes and gaping mouth. His own weapon now lying uselessly at his side. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” He grumbles, accepting the offer. But then his frown twists into a wicked smile and he tugs hard, pulling Rey down into the mud with him.

It’s thick and dark and sticks her to hands and arms with awful squelching noises as she struggles to stand back up – streaks of mud coating her once shiny skirts and turning the green velvet into a rather nasty shade that resembles something she doesn’t want to think about.

“Finn!” She holds out her ruined dress, horrified and intending to properly chastise him, but the look on his face is so comically apologetic that a laugh bursts out of her instead. “Oh – you are going to be in _so_ much trouble when my father – oh!” Suddenly the memory of why she’d been wearing such a special dress in the first place hits her, and Rey spins around in the direction of the house. “My father! I have to go!”

“I’ll bring the apples by later, since you won them fair and square.”

Laughing, Rey waves over her shoulder and takes off running in the direction of the house.

The forest is as familiar to her as the four walls of her bedroom, and Rey dodges and weaves around the trees and undergrowth with ease, even leaping over a batch of ivy without so much as a backwards glance to see if any of the poison-laded leaves managed to graze her ankles. This is her home, and she runs towards the manor with all the joy of the sunshine blazing behind her.

Her father’s carriage is already in the courtyard and all of the household and outdoor servants are lined up in a neat row in front of the stately woman standing before them, examining their appearance with neatly arched eyebrows and holding tightly onto the hand of one of her daughters.

But Rey only has eyes for her father, and she leaps into his arms with barely a warning of, “Papa!” laughing and grinning from ear to ear when he scoops her up and swings her around.

“Look at you!” He laughs, shaking his head and taking in her disheveled state with no small amount of amusement. “Just as I left. I’ll wager your friend Finn is around here somewhere.”

“No, sir!” Rey answers happily, “I slaughtered him upon the field of battle!”

“I’m sure you did!” He laughs again and sets her down on her feet. “I had hoped to present a little lady, but I suppose you’ll have to do.” He winks, then turns her around to face her new stepmother and sisters. “Rey, may I present the Baroness Rodmilla Tico, and her daughters Paige and Rose.”

The two girls curtsy prettily, looking far finer than Rey in their velvet dresses with embroidered gold hems. The eldest, Paige, is wearing the prettiest shade of peach that Rey has ever seen – it practically shimmers and demands to catch your eye – although it belies her somewhat cool expression. And the youngest is dressed in a more muted blue, although no less pretty. The youngest, Rose, smiles at her, and Rey smiles back – already warming to her presence.

“Hello, Rey,” The corner of the Baroness’s mouth quirks up in a small smile, and Rey grips her father’s hand a little tighter, “At last we meet. Ben speaks of nothing else. He’s told me all about how he and his first wife took you in after your own poor parents died when you were merely an infant. What a blessing it must be, to have found such a family when you could have ended up all alone.”

“Yes,” Rey hesitates, looking up at her father for reassurance and smiling a little more confidently when he squeezes her shoulder, “I am very lucky that Papa found me. He’s the best father in the whole world.”

“Indeed.” The Baroness smiles again, before brushing past them to walk into the house, her daughters following closely behind, and Rey breathes a sigh of relief once they’re indoors.

Her father waits until he’s sure they’ve gone, then drops down onto one knee in front of her. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Rey says by way of answer, throwing her arms around his neck for another hug – giggling when he auburn beard scrapes the side of her cheek, and he returns the hug without hesitation, pressing a warm kiss into her hair.

“Me too, my darling.”

****

The fire crackles loudly on the hearth, lighting and heating up the room in equal measure. The glow it casts upon the dark woods and blankets helps make everything feel cozy and welcoming, a feeling only amplified by the fact that her father has returned and is sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

“I brought you something,” He says, patting the mattress beside him and waiting until she’s scooted over before handing her a small satchel.

Rey opens it up carefully, cautious not to do any damage to either the bag or its contents and pulls out the leather book inside as if it’s the finest treasure in all the world. Its pristine white cover is unblemished and engraved with golden letters that gleam in the flickering light. “Utopia,” She reads the title aloud, looking up at her father as her voice lilts at the end. It’s a title she’s unfamiliar with, but that isn’t exactly surprising given the scarcity of new books available to purchase.

Their family library, started by her papa when he was a child many years ago, is small, but well-loved. Full of treasures first brought back as gifts for her adoptive mother, Satine, and then for Rey once Satine had passed away. 

“It means paradise,” He explains, taking the book from her and gently thumbing through its crisp pages. “It’s maybe a bit thick for an eight-year-old, but I thought we could add it to our library.”

“Will you read some?” Rey perks up eagerly, leaning into his side and breathing in the familiar scent of ink and leather and pine. The most comforting scent in all the world.

He pretends to groan, nudging her side with his elbow and winking at her when she pouts. “It’s been a very long day.”

“And you are a husband now,” Rey laughs, playing along and wagging her finger at him.

“Yes,” He chuckles, “A husband. But a father first and forever. We’ve been two peas in a pod, you and I, for a long time. I suppose this will take some getting used to.” He hesitates, lost in thought, smiling softly and brushing her hair away from her shoulder, before seeming to recollect himself. “Come on, bedtime.”

Rey moves back onto the pillows, sliding underneath the blankets and snuggling into their warmth as her father drapes them over her shoulders and tucks her in. “Did you see the way they ate their supper, Papa? It was perfect!”

“Yes,” He laughs, setting the book down on her nightstand. They both know the second he’s out of the room Rey will reach for it and read the first chapter. As much as she prefers hearing her father’s low tones and mellow accent, the anticipation of starting a new story is simply too much to bear. And paradise, the most delicious sounding word that conjures up all sorts of fantastical imagery, seems like the best name for a book she can possibly think of.

“It was like a dance,” She adds, remembering how dainty her new stepsisters had been as they took their seats around the table. The careful, quiet way they ate each piece of their meal – somehow without spilling a single thing, unlike Rey who can’t ever seem to slow down enough to be quite so meticulous.

And the _Baroness_. She had been the most perfect of them all. Sitting regally at the head of the table and issuing orders and commands with the presence of a queen. Her solemn face rarely cracking a smile, and offering minute, yet effective, critiques with the simple arch of a brow or quirk at the corner of her mouth.

But they were her family now. She has no memory of her birth parents and only the briefest images of the time when her adoptive mother was alive, and so the excitement she feels at the mere thought of having a mother and two new sisters is enough to scare away any fear or trepidation she might be keeping secret deep inside.

“Do you like them?” Her father asks, smoothing out the blankets before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Very much.” Rey readily responds, propping herself up enough to give him a swift kiss on the cheek, and he smiles – breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Good. Because I have to leave again in a fortnight, and I don’t want you to be nervous about being alone with them.”

This unexpected news has Rey shooting up in bed, undoing all of her father’s work to make her comfortable in an instant, but not caring one bit. “But you just got back!”

“I know,” He groans, sitting down beside her again and shaking his head, “It’s not the best timing, but it can’t be helped. I have responsibilities and I must be able to take care of you all and make the Baroness comfortable in her new home.”

“For how long?”

“Only…” He pauses, gauging her reaction, “Three weeks.”

“One,” Rey immediately counteroffers, fixing him with a firm look and willing him to concede quickly.

“Two,” He shoots back, his lip twitching with laughter as he tries to mimic her pout.

“One.”

“ _Two.”_

Rey shakes her head, and with a sigh he holds out his hand, waiting for her to do the same. It seems the only way to properly settle this is to rely on their tried and true method for making decision - rock paper scissors.

On the first round her father wins by playing rock, but Rey’s never been one to back down in the face of a challenge, and she has two more rounds to get her way.

The next she defeats him with paper, and he laughs.

“The score is tied. Next one wins the game.”

Rey nods seriously, studied his face carefully for any clues as to what his choice will be, and when he flattens out his hand to represent paper she cheers happily – having selected scissors.

“Alright, one.” He chuckles, defeated, covering her hand with his and shaking it around to make her laugh. “Sleep now. Don’t stay up late reading.”

“Goodnight!” Rey pulls the blankets up to her chin and blows him a kiss as he closes the door behind him, feeling about as happy as a girl can be. 

****

The morning of her father’s departure two weeks later is no less bright and sunny than the day of his arrival, but Rey cannot feel its warmth. She’s never warm on the days her father has to go away – a chill entering her limbs that’s unshakeable and resolute – and today is no different. 

“I’ve never seen so many gloomy faces around here. I shall be back in a week.” He steps up to the Baroness and gives her a kiss on the cheek, propping her chin up with his finger and trying to coax a smile from her that the woman seems unwilling to give.

Rey’s not sure she’s ever seen the Baroness smile. Not a real smile, anyway. But she supposes her father must have witnessed it at some point. She can’t imagine falling in love with someone who couldn’t smile.

“Then go,” The Baroness murmurs, fiddling with the end of his sleeve, “The sooner you leave the sooner we can celebrate your return.”

“Perhaps by then the three of you will have got to know each other better.” He gives the Baroness another kiss, followed by one each on the heads of Paige and Rose, and then bends down in front of Rey with a smile just for her. “I’m counting on you to teach them the ropes around here. The Baroness isn’t used to getting her hands dirty.”

Rey glances up at her stepmother, who sniffs and sticks her nose up disdainfully. Truthfully, she can’t imagine teaching this woman anything, but for her father’s sake she will try. After all, this is her mother and they’re a team. She has to start thinking of her as such, for surely the Baroness must think of her as a daughter.

With a nod, Rey kisses her father’s cheek and watches as he climbs up onto his horse, taking a moment to rub his left arm before accepting the reins from Maurice.

“Safe journey, Master.” Maurice steps backwards to give the horse room, and Ben nods at him, curling his hands tighter around the reins and getting settled in the saddle.

“Thank you.”

With a gentle prompt the horse starts to trot towards the lane, and Rey feels as though it takes her heart with it.

"Come along ladies.” The Baroness turns towards the house, gesturing for the girls to follow. “Back to your lessons.”

“Wait,” Rey stops her, vigorously shaking her head and pointing to where her father had just disappeared around the hedgerows, “He always waves at the gate. It’s tradition.”

With barely an acknowledgement that she heard her, the Baroness continues inside with Paige and Rose, but Rey runs towards the lane instead.

She expects to see her father’s customary farewell wave – perhaps a kiss and another shouted goodbye – but instead she watches in horror as he sags and falls to the side, landing on the ground with a hard, dreadful sounding thud as his horse trots away and slowly comes to a stop by the gates.

“Papa!” Rey screams, sprinting towards him as fast as her little legs will carry her and collapsing at his side. “Papa, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The Baroness, who must have come running at Rey’s call, drops down beside her in a swirl of fabric, pulling Ben into her lap and lifting his head, her repeated distressed muttering of his name drowned out by his low grunts as he struggles to focus.

Barely managing to tilt his head, he drags his arm across the ground until he can lift it to Rey’s face, cupping her cheek with his gloved hand and stroking her lightly with his thumb. “I love you,” He says quietly, his voice pained, and then with a shuddering gasp his hand falls – his body still.

A horrible sound erupts from deep inside Rey, giving voice to a kind of pain she’s never felt before – rending her heart into pieces. Beside her she can hear the Baroness crying, commanding Ben not to leave her, but it’s distant. Far away.

All Rey can hear is the sound of her heart breaking, and the world as she knows it crumbling down around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey's adoptive father: Ben Kenobi  
> Rey's adoptive mother: Satine Kryze from "The Clone Wars" 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place sometime in the 16th century.

_Ten years later._

_The earth beneath her is soft and pliant. A heavenly bed of green that cradles her where she lays gazing up at the giant fluffy white clouds overhead. Off to her side her father sits perched atop a boulder, gently strumming his worn wooden lute and humming one of the many songs he sang to her as a child. The warm timbre of his voice carrying across the light breeze and lulling her into sleep._

_“This is paradise,” She murmurs, smiling at the sound of the waves lapping against the shore below._

_"No, sweetheart," Her father softly corrects her, his voice tinged with sorrow, "This is a dream.”_

The rooster crows loudly through the open window, and as Rey slowly blinks her eyes open the island fades, her bed of grass and mossy pillow turning into hard, unforgiving stone against her back.

She’d fallen asleep in front of the fireplace again – the third time this week. And the book she’d fallen asleep reading, now smudged and frayed around the edges from years of use and ash and dirt, still lies open across her chest.

It’s not the most comfortable of mattresses, but Rey’s grown quite used to these particular stones over the years. Her stepmother had been kind enough to allow her to keep her bedroom after her father died, but more often than not she finds herself curled up in front of the fireplace pouring over the words of _Utopia_ – words she memorized long ago. Holding on tightly to the book as if by some magic she can feel her father’s hand holding her back. Allowing the magic of the flickering firelight and crackling logs to carry her away to another time.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Rey climbs up off the floor and carefully puts the book away on the shelf. Tucking it behind the family Bible where she hopes no one will notice it. Books are valuable, and she wouldn’t put it past the Baroness to try and sell it if she thought she could fetch a decent price.

A quick glance down tells her that her dress hasn’t made it through the night unscathed, but Rey dismisses the streaks of soot with a shrug. It’s a sturdy dress, the coarse material made for years of use, and there’s nobody around for Rey to impress. Except, perhaps, the pigs, who Rey can hear already squealing for their breakfast outside.

The crisp air that hits her lungs and the crunch of the grass when she steps out of the manor is a sharp reminder that the last remnants of spring – chillier this year than usual – still cling to the earth, refusing to step aside too quickly for summer’s inevitable, and imminent, arrival. If she squints, she can just make out the royal palace in the distance emerging from the morning mist, its grey rooftop reflecting brightly in the early sun.

_Strange to live so close to a place one will never visit_ , Rey thinks with a private chuckle. The very idea of her, in her dirty dress and with mud and grime caked underneath her fingernails and tangled dark brown hair, visiting the palace is laughable. Maybe once, when she was a girl, she dreamt of castles and kings and queens and handsome princes who might take her away, but no longer.

Those stories are fairytales, and fairytales are just lies that children tell themselves to feel better at night. They aren’t a solid foundation for building a future.

She heads to the stables first. They’re mostly empty now, with only a quarter of the stalls occupied, but to Rey it’s one of the happiest places on the whole estate. Her father’s horse, a large blue roan stallion, lifts his head over the gate as if already anticipating her arrival.

“Good morning, Artoo.” Rey holds out her palm, a sugar cube that she’d stolen from the pantry resting in the middle, and laughs when the old horse quickly eats it up – whinnying loudly as if to say thank you and nudging her shoulder with his nose. “I see someone is happy. Ready for breakfast?”

It’s hard work, now that most of the servants have been let go, but Rey has devised a system for caring for the horses by herself that makes the job much easier. Using bits of scrap wood, she’d built a gutter along the row of stalls with outlets over each horse’s trough – enabling her to pour large buckets of water into it that then runs into all the troughs at once, saving her both time and strenuous effort.

Next she climbs up into the loft and retrieves the pitchfork, tossing bunches of hay down to the horses below. Taking care not to lose her balance and fall off the edge. It wouldn’t do to break a limb, and she’s not sure the Baroness would bother to call for a doctor and get it set right if she did.

Once she’s finished (and taken a little extra time to brush Artoo’s mane and give him a kiss), Rey heads back outside to tend to the goats, then cows, then pigs. The last of which seem to be particularly fractious that morning.

“Now, Unkar, don’t be selfish,” She chastises the largest pig, a big fat ugly brute that likes to pick on his smaller family members, “You have to share.”

He snorts and grunts in response and Rey rolls her eyes. Pigs might be intelligent animals in theory, but this one is as dumb as a rock and mean as they come and she can’t say she entirely disagrees whenever Paulette suggests turning him into bacon.

Once the brutes are satisfied, Rey retrieves her wicker basket and walks over to the busy chicken coop – stopping to pick some wildflowers along the way that have popped up on the side of the fence. They’ll make for a nice decoration in the kitchen, and she loves seeing the little touches of pink and purple when she’s scrubbing dishes or beating stubborn stains out of linen. They remind her to stay positive. Especially when the screeching upstairs, impressive enough to rival any farm animal, gets to be unbearable.

The chickens are loud this morning. Squawking happily and rustling about their cage as if they’re a bunch of old biddies with places to be and gossip to spread. It’s how she imagines church must be – all the courtiers milling about in their finery discussing the Queen’s newest dress or the King’s latest declaration. Using every opportunity to show off their plumage.

Or perhaps that’s just what she’s used to seeing from Paige, whose brooches alone have become increasingly large and elaborate as she struggles to keep up with the displays of wealth and finery from the other young ladies vying for the Prince’s attention.

_Thank god I don’t have to be part of all that._

Rey reaches for the latch on the gate of the coop, but just as her fingers close around the leather strap a rustling sound accompanied by the plaintive cry of an animal catches her attention, rooting her to the spot. 

A million thoughts run through her mind: _is it dangerous? Could it be a fox or something more threatening, like a lynx? A wolf come to find breakfast amongst her hens?_ But then the animal cries out again and, perhaps against her better judgement, Rey sets down her basket and goes to investigate.

She follows the sounds across the courtyard, through the vegetable garden, and into the trees until at last she finds the source: a furry, floppy-eared, orange and white spaniel, caught in a poacher’s net.

“Hello there.” She squats down onto her heels, tentatively reaching out towards the dog and praying it isn’t rabid. Its fur is quite shiny and looks recently brushed and well-cared for, so it’s probably safe to bet that this dog has an owner, but she’s seen village children with rabies bites before and the thought of that happening to her is terrifying. “I’m going to set you free, alright?”

The dog seems to calm at the sound of her voice, and Rey searches through the threadbare ropes until she can find where they’re tied. If she had a knife they’d be easy to cut, but anything sharp like that would only be found in the kitchen and if she goes back there now it’s late enough in the morning that chances are the Baroness would find her and demand she perform some other chores – leaving the poor dog stuck for hours.

The knots are impressive for a cheap poacher’s net, but Rey manages to get them undone with a few good tugs (and a broken nail as her reward), and the second they’re loose the dog bursts free – barking happily and jumping all over her, licking every inch of her skin that he can reach.

“Stop that!” Rey laughs, scrunching up her face and trying to push him back down. Merely succeeding in getting the dog to weave in and out of her legs instead, yipping joyfully. “You’re a friendly little thing, aren’t you? Where do you come from?”

His happiness is infectious, and Rey finds herself petting him and scratching behind his ears almost without realizing it. Laughing again when he barks three times in quick succession, as if trying to answer her question.

“Is your master nearby, or have they abandoned you?” She kneels to get in a better position for petting him, and the dog practically climbs into her lap. Too big to fit properly, but undeterred by his size, nevertheless. 

The rooster crows again, making him jump, and Rey chuckles and gives the top of his head a kiss. “That’s just Teedo. He's loud, but harmless. Pay him no mind.”

The dog snuggles in closer, and Rey smiles. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to keep him. It would be highly impractical, and the Baroness would never allow him indoors and Paige would probably torture the poor thing to death with her shouting, but Rose might vouch for him. And if he never ventured past the kitchens…

A man’s whistle rings out loud and clear and suddenly it’s as if Rey no longer exists. The dog leaps out of her lap and shoots off in the direction of the sound, moving as fast as his legs can carry him, leaving her behind.

“Well,” She sighs, trying to ignore the disappointment that lances through her chest and climbing back onto her feet - brushing the bits of grass and dirt off her skirt, “I guess that’s it then. Goodbye, little friend.”

Back in the kitchens Rey finds an already bustling scene in front of her. Both Paulette and Louise are running around from one task to the next, trying to make sure the bread doesn’t burn while the eggs cook in front of the fire, and Paulette quickly scoops up a few of the eggs and puts them in a bowl before running upstairs. 

A faint trace of tears still stains Louise’s cheeks, and Rey picks up one of the flowers from her basket and tucks it behind the older woman’s ear, squeezing her elbow when their eyes meet in understanding. “We’ll find a way to fix this, Louise, I promise. If the Baroness can sell your husband to pay her taxes, then surely we can buy him back.”

“Bless you child,” Louise replies, the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, “But I just don’t see how. How will the likes of us ever be able to afford half such a sum?”

“We’ll find a way,” Rey insists, nodding firmly. The alternative, allowing him to be shipped off to God knows where or bought by a harsh master, is too terrible to contemplate and Rey refuses to entertain the thought for more than a second.

Paige’s voice erupts from above, making everyone jump. “I said I wanted four-minute eggs not four one minute eggs and where in God’s name is our bread?”

“Just coming out the oven, my lady,” Comes Paulette’s apologetic reply, and Rey winces at the sound of clattering plates and silverware.

“You’d better take the bread up right away, Rey,” Louise gives her a gentle shove, “Or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Rey retrieves one of the loaves from the cooling rack. It’s still hot, and it singes her fingertips as she transfers it onto a wooden platter, but she’s used to the feeling and doesn’t stop to check the damage before grabbing a knife and running upstairs – taking a minute to collect herself and listen in to gauge the mood of the room.

With her stepmother, it’s always better to be prepared.

“Paige, precious,” The Baroness eyes her eldest daughter, the warning in her voice obvious despite its low volume, “What do I always say about tone?”

Rose perks up, ever-eager to reply and prove herself an excellent student, and readily answers, “A lady of breeding ought never to raise her voice any louder than the gentle hum of a whispering wind.”

The effect is somewhat the opposite of what she’d intended, however, and Rey cringes when she sees the Baroness turn towards her second daughter with a tight smile and eyes that flash with displeasure. “Rose, dear, do not speak unless you can improve the silence.”

Paige smirks at her little sister's discomfort, before looking at her mother with an overly innocent expression. “I was not shrill, I was resonant. Courtiers know the difference.”

“I very much doubt your style of resonance would be permitted in the royal court.” The Baroness returns to her own hard-boiled egg, carefully cracking the top of the shell, and Paige rolls her eyes.

“Well, I’m not going to the royal court, am I Mother? No one is, except some foreign pig that they have the nerve to call a princess.”

“Darling, nothing is final until you’re dead. And even then, I’m sure God negotiates. Where is that _bread_?”

Unable to delay any longer, Rey sucks in a deep breath and emerges from her hiding place on the stairs, holding out the bread tray as if offering it up as a gift before setting it down in the middle of the table next to the butter and bowl of fresh citrus.

(Her mouth waters at the sight, but she clamps her lips shut. It’s been years since she was allowed such a delicacy, and it would be foolish to ask.)

“Good morning Madam, Paige, Rose.” She nods at each woman in turn, though Rose is the only one who acknowledges her presence with a smile and a greeting. The others simply stick up their noses even higher, as if offended by her mere existence. “I trust you all slept well.”

“What kept you?” The Baroness asks abruptly, her gaze landing on Rey and pinning her to her spot on the floor, and she scrambles to come up with an excuse that isn’t _I avoid your general vicinity as much as humanly possible._

Somehow she doesn’t think that would go over very well.

“I had some difficulty collecting all the eggs this morning. The chickens were livelier than usual.”

“Someone’s been reading in the fireplace again.” Paige lets out a rather unladylike snort, giving Rey a scathing once-over, her eyes lingering on all of the streaks that mar her dress. “Look at you, ash and soot everywhere.”

“Some people read because they cannot think for themselves.” The Baroness slowly butters her bread before taking a bite, her words dripping with disdain, and Rey winces.

“Why don’t you sleep with the pigs, Cindersoot, if you insist on smelling like one?” Paige adds, and Rey's face flushes with heat.

It’s mortifying spending day in and day out with three women who spare no expense on their personal appearances. The Baroness would throw away a fortune on gowns and perfumes and jewelry if she could, and the phrase “cleanliness is next to godliness” has been repeated so often that Rey can sense the words coming now before they even leave her stepmother’s lips, but none of that has ever applied to Rey.

The last nice dress she owned was the green velvet one her father had given her, and that had been repurposed into a decorative pillow long ago.

“That was harsh, Paige,” The Baroness says, but there’s nothing in either her tone or expression to show reproach, and Paige simply smiles at her mother’s lackluster response. “But Rey, your appearance does reflect a certain…” She waves her hand around, gesturing to Rey’s entire body “...Crudeness, my dear. What can I do to make you try?”

“I do try, Stepmother,” Rey responds softly, not wishing to draw anymore ire, “I do wish to please you. Sometimes I sit and try to think of ways that I might be better, things I could say –“

The Baroness holds up her hand and Rey shuts up immediately. “Oh, calm down, child. It hardly matters.”

“Perhaps if we brought back Maurice, I would not offend you so.” It’s a wild gamble, one that’s not likely to work, but she must try. She promised Louise she would and Maurice was her father’s friend, not just a servant. He doesn’t deserve to suffer just because Paige needed a new gown to wear while watching the Prince play tennis or whatever it is wealthy men do to attract a wife.

Unfortunately, her suggestion only seems to elicit her stepmother’s wrath. She turns abruptly in her chair, and Rey almost cowers under her glare. “It is your manner that offends, Rey. Throughout these hard times I have sheltered you, clothed you, and cared for you. All that I ask in return is that you help me here without complaint. Is that such an _extraordinary_ request?”

Pressing her lips together to hide her true feelings, Rey quietly nods. “No, my lady.”

“Very well. We shall have no more talk of servants coming back. Is that quite understood?”

“Yes, my lady.”

****

“Stop complaining!” Rey grunts as she helps Finn put his foot into the stirrup, struggling to keep ahold of the lead rope, the reins, and him all at once. A feat he isn’t making easy with all of his shifting and bouncing around and general lack of coordination.

“I’m not!” Finn shouts back, affronted, and his boot promptly slips off the stirrup again.

Honestly, when Rey agreed to this she’d had no idea it would be so bloody difficult. If she had, she would have told him to find someone in town to teach him. Someone who was less likely to drag him into the forest and dunk his head in the stream at the end of the first lesson. “You’ve done nothing but moan and groan since we started.”

“Hey,” Finn leans to the side to try and help her get his foot back in place, nearly sliding off the horse in the process, “It’s not as easy as it looks, alright? I’m trying to come up with a plan.”

_Of course he is_ , she laughs. “You don’t need a _plan_. I’m right here.”

“I don’t want to get thrown off! What if he decides he doesn’t like me?”

Artoo audibly sighs and sniffs, swatting a few flies off his rump with his tail and impatiently moving forward a half-step. He’s been so good, standing still while Rey put on all the tack, allowing Finn to feed him some carrots, waiting while it took Finn _seven_ attempts to climb onto his back, but Rey can tell that he’s less than impressed with his new rider. “ _I’m_ about to decide I don’t like you,” She teases Finn with a laugh, “You need to get settled in the saddle more. You’re too tense and you’re transmitting it to him. He can sense your discomfort.”

“Oh, great,” Finn groans, rolling his eyes, “That makes me feel much better.”

“Finn, you asked me to teach you how to ride and that’s what I’m trying to do. At some point you’re going to need to trust me.” Honestly, you’d think after a lifetime of friendship he’d know that she’d never willingly put him in danger, but he’s as nervous as a rabbit in a net – shaking like a leaf and sweating entirely too much for the current temperature.

“I do trust you.” Comes his ready reply, although its impact is somewhat lessened by the way he eyes the horse underneath him and mutters, “It’s Artoo I’m not so sure about.”

“My father trained this horse himself; he’s not going to buck you off. Now keep your back straight but relax. We’re just going to take a nice, slow walk around the paddock.”

“You promise he’s not going to bolt?”

“This paddock’s barely larger than the barn, where would he go? And besides, I’m holding the lead rope.”

“He might jump the fence.”

“He’s fifteen years old and has a penchant for stealing sugar cubes.” Rey giggles, retrieving said treat from her pocket and holding it out for Artoo. She’d meant to give it to him as a reward for allowing Finn to learn to ride on him, but he’s already earned it for not falling asleep standing up. “He’s not jumping anything.”

Finn audibly gulps. “You swear?”

“What do you think is going to happen? That you’ll fall off and hit the ground in some sort of fiery explosion?” She’s laughing at him in earnest now, but she can’t help it, and Finn reaches down just enough to affectionately swat the top of her head in retaliation.

“Don’t be mean, peanut, and no, not a fiery explosion… but a broken back…”

“That’s not going to happen.” Rey gives his knee a reassuring squeeze, before beginning to tug on the lead rope. “Now come on, let’s try going in a circle just once.”

Artoo plods along slowly, staying near the fence and moving at a nice, easy pace that even a small child could handle, and they make it halfway around the paddock before Rey catches Finn muttering rapidly to himself under his breath.

“You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.”

“I know I can do this.”

“I was talking to _myself.”_

Rey grins at him and pulls a little harder on the rope, encouraging Artoo to pick up his speed. It’s not anything close to a trot yet, but Finn tightens his grip on the reins regardless.

He doesn’t ask her to stop, though, and Rey can tell from the look in his eyes and the muscles clenching in his jaw that he’s determined to see this through. A surge of pride wells up inside her chest, and she can feel her cheeks starting to ache from how wide her smile is.

“Have you ever considered just hopping onto Artoo one day and riding off into the sunset?” Finn asks once they’ve gone around the circle a few times and he’s started to relax just a smidgen. “You could be long gone before the step-monster noticed you were missing.”

“She’d send men after me.” Rey dismisses the idea without a thought. The idea of running away is ludicrous – she’d never get away with it. And knowing the Baroness her life upon returning would be ten times worse than it is now.

“Who? She’s sold all the male servants. And Paulette and Louise aren’t going to help her.”

“Townsmen, soldiers, mercenaries, I don’t know." Rey shrugs. "Besides, where would I go?”

“Far away from here. I’d go with you. We could go find Master Skywalker.” Finn gets that faraway, dreamy look in his eyes that he always does when he talks about the legendary artist and inventor - a man more myth than flesh and blood - and she sighs. 

“That’s your dream, not mine. You want to train as his apprentice.”

Finn gestures in agreement, before giving her the nod to pick up the pace even more (it's a slow trot, but Rey still counts it as another huge success for her friend). “Well then what _is_ your dream? I know it isn’t working for that old hag forever.”

“I would see the manor flourish again. My father’s home restored to its past glory and thriving as a fully operational farm.” It's the dearest wish of her heart, one that she doesn't dare tell anyone other than him for fear it might not ever come true, and Finn smiles in understanding. 

"You'd have to send the Baroness packing first." 

“Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe she'll succeed in marrying Paige off to some wealthy duke or count and they will all leave and I’ll be allowed to stay here, in peace.”

“I thought it was Paige’s destiny to marry Prince Dameron and elevate the family’s status to royalty.”

Rey snorts, shaking her head at the horrible image that presents. “It was, but apparently the newest rumors say he’s going to be married to some foreign princess as part of a treaty.”

“Ah, what a shame. I was so looking forward to bowing to Queen Paige one day.” Finn presses his lips together to keep from smirking, the teasing sparkle in his eye giving him away, and Rey playfully punches him in the leg.

“Don’t. I’d rather see Unkar on the throne than her. A hog would be far less trouble.”

As if summoned by their conversation, a loud, unmistakable screech comes from the direction of the house, and Finn flicks his head towards it with a laugh. “And less noise. You’d better go.”

He clambers off of Artoo and drops onto the dirt with a heavy thud, handing over the reins so that Rey can take his place. 

She swings her leg over the saddle with ease and settles into the familiar leather, wrapping her hand around the straps and giving Artoo a pat on the neck to let him know she's ready. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Tell Rose I said hello!” 

Rolling her eyes (she’ll never understand his silly crush), Rey returns his jolly wave and then prompts Artoo in the direction of the manor. 

His question still lingers in the back of her mind as she rides, though, the words _what if_ repeating themselves in the rhythm of the horse's hoof beats. What if the Baroness left? What if her stepsisters got married and went far away? What if Rey was allowed to keep the manor, to care for and make prosper on her own?

What if she were _free_? 

No, something so marvelous would surely require Fate's intervention, and she doesn't dare dream she'd ever be so lucky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you for giving this story a chance. There's a couple chapters of build-up and then we'll start to get into the romance part of it, I swear. ;)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of a certain Prince Dameron.

_A man who, in many ways, was still very much a boy._

Poe grips the reins tighter as Black One picks up speed, accelerating into a full gallop as he races through the woods after the deer. The faithful horse dodging trees and branches with trained ease and following Poe’s commands barely a second after he gives them – the two of them almost of one mind as they pursue their quarry.

Adrenaline pumps through Poe’s veins, his heart thumping wildly inside his chest, loud enough that he can hear it thundering in his ears. Somewhere far behind he can hear the rest of the hunting party shouting and calling out to him, but he pays them no mind.

This is his domain, and he doesn’t intend to fail.

The stag winds a twisting path through the forest, and Poe loses sight of it two or three times before the they burst into an open field. _It’s now or never_.

Retrieving an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back, Poe drops the reins – trusting Black One to hold steady – and lifts his bow. He only has a split second to get this right.

Using his knee, he prompts Black One to turn slightly to give him a better angle, and God must be smiling down on him today because the stag turns too, presenting Poe with the perfect target.

The arrow flies free, cutting swiftly through the air, and finds its mark with a victorious thud.

Slowly the sounds of his friends and servants gets louder and louder, until Poe finds himself surrounded. Their congratulatory slaps on his back nearly knocking the wind out of him while the attendants dismount and cross the field to retrieve the fallen deer. He’ll make a fine meal for their families tonight. Poe always makes sure the meat from the royal hunts is distributed equally throughout the palace. 

“Well done, Your Highness!” Lady Jessica Pava rides up beside him, brushing back her windswept hair with a wide grin on her face, and Poe smiles proudly back at her. “That might have been one of your most impressive displays yet.”

“Are you sure you could see it?” Poe teases, “You were so far behind, I thought perhaps you’d all given up and decided to visit the pub instead.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” His closest friend and companion, Sir Temmin Wexley, meanders towards them on his rather tired looking horse. A half-eaten apple in hand that he must have plucked off of one of the trees as they were riding. “I could do with a drink.”

“And a drink you shall have,” Poe laughs, “Once we’ve returned home. Was the thrill of the chase not enough to wake you this morning, Snap?” The childhood nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, and Poe shares a look of mischief with Lady Pava while Sir Wexley predictably groans.

“You’d think after making me the Earl of Akiva you’d drop the nickname,” Snap grumbles, “But _no_ , you just have to keep bringing it up.”

"Of course we do, old friend.” Poe prompts Black One forward so that he can clap the other man on the back, and Snap huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, fishing another apple out of his satchel and handing it over to Poe who accepts it gratefully.

“Sometimes I don’t think you’ll ever grow up, _Your Highness_.”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Poe grins, purposefully ignoring the shared eye-rolls between Snap and Jess. The two of them are his oldest friends and they grew up together, running through the halls of the palace and playing hide and seek in the gardens. He and Snap have fought in battles together (skirmishes, more than anything, but still intense in their own right), and Jess was the first person he ever kissed (although they both decided immediately that they were better off as friends). But neither of them fully understands just how different life is for him.

Where they both have been allowed certain liberties, given opportunities to experience new things and pursue different hobbies and interests, Poe’s whole life has been decided for him every step of the way. It’s exhausting and restrictive and he chafes under all the obligations and expectations. Perhaps it is childish for a man over the age of twenty-five, but he has to take advantage of any opportunity to show a little bit of independence that he can.

“Your Highness, we should really be heading back to the castle. The king will be expecting you.” The footman gestures to where the sun is beginning to rise higher in the sky, signifying that the morning is already half-gone, and Poe sighs. Strictly speaking, he didn't have permission to go hunting today and so he's bound to be in trouble for more than being late to breakfast.

“I suppose you’re right.” He gathers his reins and then looks down, expecting to see a yapping white and orange dog scampering about and wrinkling his brow in confusion when there’s nothing there. “Where is Beebee?”

“He was trailing along behind us when you took off after the stag,” Snap replies, sitting up higher in his saddle as if to try and get a better look at their surroundings.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, though.” Lady Pava frowns, chewing on her bottom lip. “Perhaps he lost us in the pursuit.”

“Would you like us to send out a search party, my prince?” The footman crosses his arm over his chest, making a fist by his shoulder and looking determined – ready to assist as needed – but Poe shakes his head.

“No, Snap and I will find him. The rest of you head back to the castle.”

“But, sire,” The footman hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the prince alone and unguarded, but Poe waves him off. Chances are Beebee got distracted by something and wandered off somewhere, but he can’t have gotten very far. And they’re close enough to the castle now that Poe has no fear of getting lost.

(Not that he’d mind getting lost. Any excuse for staying away a few extra hours is a good one.)

“Come on, Snap, let’s head back towards the main road. I’m sure we’ll find him chasing squirrels or rabbits.”

The two of them steer their horses back the way they came, disappearing into the woods and leaving the others behind. The sunlight shining through the leaves above creates a dappled effect below, and Poe entertains himself by pretending to capture the rays in his palm. Letting Black One plod along at the pace of his choosing. 

“I swear that dog of yours is always getting into trouble.” Snap chuckles, content to follow Poe's slow lead and apparently not in any more of a hurry to get back than he is. The loud crisp crunch of each bite of his apple is the only noise around other than the twittering birds perched in the treetops, and it makes Poe smile.

“It’s not his fault," He replies affably, "Trouble just seems to find him.”

Snap snorts. “Like dog, like master.”

“It’s why we get along so well.” Poe grins unapologetically, unable to refute that claim, and Snap rolls his eyes and scoffs. 

“Are you sure you didn’t tell Beebee to run off on purpose so that you’d have an excuse to delay your return?” 

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” It's not a completely implausible accusation, but for once Poe didn't have to engineer an escape - his loyal dog did all the work for him, completely by coincidence. 

He makes a mental note to give him a special treat once they're back at the castle. 

Snap tosses his apple core aside, wiping the juices off on his trousers. “Because you know the king probably wants to discuss your upcoming engagement.”

“Let’s not use the term ‘upcoming.’" Poe shudders, as if he can physically repel this topic of conversation. "Nothing is final yet.”

“But it will be soon. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m optimistic that my father will see reason.”

“It seems pretty reasonable to me.” Snap shrugs, digging a roll out from his satchel that he must have stolen from the kitchens before they left and eating half of it in one bite. 

Poe glares at him, but the effort is entirely wasted when he refuses to look up from his snack. His friend, for all his excellent qualities, can't seem to grasp the idea that an arranged marriage might not be an ideal situation, no matter how many times Poe tries to explain it to him. 

“What?" Snap holds his hands up in self-defense once he finally notices Poe's expression. "It does. It makes sense politically to form an alliance with our closest neighbor, and this is the easiest way to do it. And it’s not as if Princess Bliss is completely detestable, either. She’s very pretty, an engaging conversationalist, intelligent, a little scary and intimidating, sure, but…”

“Zorii is lovely - when she wants to be - and I’m sure she’ll make some other prince very happy someday, but that man won’t be me. Plus, I’m not sure she’s forgiven me for the incident at last year’s regatta.”

The two of them wince in unison, and Poe places his hand over his cheek at the memory - as if he can retroactively protect himself from injury.

(He hadn't meant to insult her by refusing her advances. He was trying to be gentleman, but apparently Zorii hadn't taken kindly to his admission that he wasn't interested. _Offended_ would be putting it lightly.) 

“Probably not," Snap concedes, "But how do you expect to convince your father?”

“I’ll think of something.” Poe whistles loudly as they near the road, calling out for Beebee, and it isn’t long before they hear excited barking and his faithful dog comes running towards them.

**** 

“You were late this morning. Your father left without you.” Poe’s stepmother, Queen Leia Organa, greets him on the castle grounds with a warm kiss on each cheek. Her brown eyes sparkling with a knowing understanding as she offers him a small smile. 

He can tell by the tone of her voice that she isn't disappointed, and he breathes a sigh of relief. That's one arrow dodged. 

“Snap and I got a little sidetracked. It couldn’t be helped.” He hands the reins for Black One over to a stable boy and pats the horse on the rump as he walks past. Wishing that he were the one charged with caring for the animal instead of the whole kingdom. He’d be much happier spending his days in the stables with the horses than smiling and making small talk with courtiers all day.

“Kes isn’t going to be pleased.” Leia sighs, shaking her head and turning towards the main doors - brushing her long heavy skirts to the side so that they’re out of her way and adjusting her crown as she walks.

The strangeness of it still strikes him sometimes. Although she’s been married to his father for almost a decade now, there are moments when Poe still expects to see Leia how he remembers from when he was small – every bit as regal as she is today, but dressed unconventionally in trousers, hair up in braids, marching around giving orders to the soldiers. As much of a general as his father, the king, had ever been. Back during the war, when her husband, Lord Solo, was still alive and Poe’s mother was as well.

The four of them had been best friends. Kes and Leia the level-headed halves to their more hotheaded counterparts, Shara Bey and Han. They had grown up together, fought together, gotten married around the same time, and even had children close in age – sons, who they’d hoped would carry on the family legacy of friendship and loyalty.

But then Poe’s mother had gotten sick when he was eight years old, and Han had died sometime after that (with rumors that the son was involved somehow, although Poe’s never dared to ask), and eventually Kes and Leia were the only ones left.

It makes sense that they chose to get married – the kingdom needed a queen, and who better than his father’s best friend? And Poe’s never resented welcoming Leia into the family. But it’s still strange. As if something in the universe went wrong all those years ago, and it’s never quite mended.

“What else is new?” Poe sarcastically replies, following after Leia, and when she turns to raise her eyebrow at him, a look that would make many men cower, he merely smiles.

“Your father only wants what’s best for you, Poe, and lately you’ve seemed… directionless.”

“And so the answer is to marry me off?” He huffs, kicking a loose pebble with the toe of his boot and feeling a rush of satisfaction when it hits the metal guardrail with a loud ping. 

“A wife might do you some good. And I thought you liked Zorii. She seemed perfectly lovely to me when she was here last summer.”

“I did – I do." Minus the whole face-slapping thing, that is... "But in the same way I like Snap or Jess. There’s nothing romantic about it.”

“That might change you know." Leia pauses halfway across the bridge, looking out wistfully over the lower ground level where men and women are busy rushing to and fro in service of the castle household. "Sometimes love just takes time.”

“Like it did for you and my father?” It's a low blow, and the second the words leave his mouth Poe instantly wishes he could take them back. He knows they care for each other in their own way, even if it isn't traditional or romantic. 

She turns to him with a sharp eye, steel entering her voice that makes him feel only a few inches tall. “What your father and I have is different.”

Clearing his throat, Poe softens his voice to something more conciliatory. “With all due respect, Leia, I don’t want what you and my father have. I want what my father and mother had. What you and Han had. A soulmate.”

There's a sadness that enters her eyes sometimes, deepening the chocolate brown into something mournful and pained, and Poe hates to see it there now - to know that he's the one who summoned it, however unwittingly. He opens his mouth to change the subject, to bring the topic of conversation to something light and inconsequential to distract her, but before he can do so Leia chuckles, low and deep, fondly shaking her head. “It still takes work, Poe. I loved Han with every fiber of my being, but every day of our marriage took work. Love is a choice, as much as it is a feeling.”

“And all I’m asking for is the chance to make that choice for myself,” Poe replies earnestly, willing her to understand, and she smiles while patting his hand. 

“You can tell your father that when you see him for supper tonight.”

“He won’t listen. He thinks I’m just trying to shirk my duties as the prince.”

“Aren’t you?” Leia teases softly, and Poe has to concede that maybe there’s a small part of him that is motivated purely by rebellion. But his dream of finding love for himself is an important part, too. He absentmindedly reaches for the ring hanging around his neck, holding onto it as a solid reminder of what it is he's fighting for. “His heart is pretty set on this peace treaty. He doesn’t want to live through another war.”

“And I don’t want to be sacrificed for it.”

“What would you do, Poe, if you were free to go anywhere?" She asks suddenly, waving her hand and gesturing to the view in front of them. "Where would you go?”

“I don’t know." Poe lets go of the ring and rests his hand on the metal railing instead. Wrapping his fingers around the cold steel and focusing on the way it feels against his skin. "Just somewhere different. Somewhere new. I want… to experience something just for myself. Maybe I could go visit your brother, Master Skywalker, for a while.”

“Luke?” Leia half sighs, half laughs, “Unfortunately I never seem to know where Luke is anymore. He’s always wandering from one town to the next, only sending letters from a place once he’s already moved on.”

“Never-ending adventure." He grins, running his hand through his curls and imagining the salty breezes coming off the sea, or the feeling of hard mountains underneath his feet. "Sounds like an ideal life.” 

“Or a lonely one,” Leia gently corrects him. “Talk to your father, Poe. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

****

“Check!” Snap sits back proudly in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and grinning at the board between them, and Poe’s frown deepens into a scowl.

His conversation with his father did not go as planned last night. The two of them had stayed up late arguing in his study, debating the merits of country before self and duty above desire. Not that Poe necessarily disagrees with those ideals in theory, but in practice he’s finding the idea hard to swallow. Especially when it's _his_ self and _his_ desire that's being sacrificed.

Sure, Kes had claimed to understand Poe's point of view, and he repeatedly stated that he wasn't unsympathetic to his feelings, but in the end it all came back to the same thing. Poe was going to be married, and it would be happening soon. 

He’d been up half the night tossing and turning before marching through the castle in the middle of the night to find Snap and demand he join him in a game of chess. Much to the annoyance of his friend, who, up until he started winning, had been threatening all manner of bodily harm that would have had anyone else thrown directly into prison for treason.

“You’re cheating,” Poe accuses gruffly, staring at his dwindling pieces and contemplating suggesting they switch to tennis instead. At least that might give him a better outlet for his adrenaline. He’s itching underneath his skin and bursting at the seams with inaction. Physical activity should have been his choice from the beginning. 

At his feet Beebee waits anxiously, as if sensing his master’s distress and trying to make him feel better with a lick or a nuzzle, but although Poe appreciates the effort, it does little to ease the ache in his chest.

“I am not,” Snap laughs, purposely ignoring Poe’s sour expression, “You’re just not very good.”

“It’s hard to be _good_ , when one of us is playing fair and the other one is _cheating._ ” Poe moves his bishop between his king and Snap’s queen, cutting him off and getting in position to hopefully take out his queen on the next turn. The best defense is a good offense. 

“You’ve never been very good at chess, Poe. You’re a man of action and chess is a more…” He pauses, analyzing the board, before moving his rook three spaces – effectively trapping Poe’s king. “ _Deliberate_ game. Check-mate.”

“This is bullsh-“

“If I can’t sleep, than neither shall he!”

Poe freezes at the interruption, his eyes catching Snap’s in mirror images of surprise, and the two of them sit like statues as they hear footsteps that unmistakably belong to the king growing louder and louder down the long stone hallway outside his bedroom.

“Come back to bed, Kes," Leia pleads, "It won’t do to wake him up and start fighting again. You both need your space.” 

“I signed the treaty, it’s an excellent agreement for the good of the whole country, and the woman in question is very lovely. He has no right to be upset.”

“But he does not love her, my lord.”

“It’s not about love.”

“Perhaps it should be.”

The footsteps stop, and Poe knows from experience that his father is gearing up to say something important. “If he is to become king, he must learn to accept his responsibility. Like I did. Sometimes we have to make difficult personal choices for the good of the country – you and I know that better than anyone. I love Poe and I'm proud to have him as my son, but I’ve gone too easy on him, Leia, and he’s become much too free-spirited and reckless in the past few years when he should have been maturing into a real leader.”

“Like his mother?”

Poe's stomach somersaults at Leia's quiet suggestion, his heart warming at the thought, and he waits with baited breath for his father's reply. 

“Shara knew how to tell when the time called for duty or disobedience," Kes says finally, his voice thick with some unnamed emotion, "Poe does not.”

“A sapling cannot grow in the shadow of a mighty oak, Kes, he needs sunshine.”

“He needs to step up.”

The footsteps pick up again, growing nearer, and Poe jolts out of his seat. There isn’t much time, but if he acts quickly he might just be able to make his escape.

“What are you doing?” Snap whispers urgently, but Poe ignores him. Instead diving underneath his bed and feeling around for the rope he’d stashed there weeks ago to be used in an emergency such as this. “Oh, not _again_.” Snap groans when Poe holds it up triumphantly. “You’re going to be in so much trouble. And they’re going to think I helped you.”

“Not if I tie you to the chair first.” Poe grabs a loose bedsheet and rapidly throws it around his friend, tying it loosely behind the chair in a sham of a knot, before fastening the rope firmly to one of the bedposts and throwing the rest out the window.

“This never works.” Snap fiddles with the knot around him, tightening it himself so that it looks somewhat more respectable, while Poe grabs his cloak from where he'd thrown it haphazardly over a chair earlier and fastens it around his neck.

“Tenth time’s the charm!” Poe drops to one knee to give Beebee a kiss on the head and a quick scratch behind the ears, the dog’s whines tugging at his heart. “I’ll be back for you buddy, I promise.” He'd take the dog with him if he could, but it would be impossible to climb the rope while holding him.

With one last pat on Beebee's head, he swings his leg over the windowsill with a salute and a grin towards Snap, then grabs onto the rope and starts making his way down the tall tower.

It’s tough work. Dangerous. The first few times he did this he’d almost slipped and fallen to his death, but it hadn’t been enough to stop him. Now he relishes the adrenaline, the risk, the thrill of escape, and he climbs down the rope with practiced ease, landing on the ground with a thump just as he hears his father calling out for the guards above.

_There’s not much time._

He sprints in the direction of the stables, darting in and out of the fading shadows so that the soldiers and servants don’t see him, before ducking in through one of the side doors – rarely guarded due to its location behind a large stack of hay and a safe bet since most people don’t know it’s there.

The door is right next to Black One’s stall, and with a quick glance to make sure there aren’t any stable boys lurking about, Poe unlatches the stall door and slips inside. There’s no time to get tacked up so he’ll have to ride bareback, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

With a grunt Poe pulls himself onto the giant horse and then, after a subtle prompting, they’re on their way – bolting out of the stable and into the grey light of early morning.

To freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Poe will meet in the next chapter, I promise. Although it might not be quite conventional...


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and the prince meet, but don't exactly hit it off in the way you might expect...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments on the previous chapters! I appreciate your kindness and support so much. <3

“For those lucky enough to be born into privilege, it is disgraceful when their manners do not match their position.” Rey repeats the words of Erasmus out loud – words that she’s heard the Baroness recite to Paige and Rose many times during their morning lessons - as she eyes the tree in front of her. Strictly speaking, it would not be proper for a young woman of her age to be seen climbing a tree – even while pursuing such a noble cause as the one that brought her here today - but whatever privilege she’d been born into surely was scraped and worn away years ago.

Besides, today is Finn’s birthday and she’s determined to make him an apple pie. Surely that precludes any demands of decorum.

There are a few apples strewn about on the grass below, but most of them are bruised or have worm holes and Rey knows from experience how unpleasant it can be to discover that when you’re already halfway through the apple. No, the best apples can only be found at the top of the tree where they get the most sunlight, and only the best will do.

Hiking up her skirts, Rey knots them between her legs and, once they’re secured, grabs onto the lowest branch and starts to climb.

Once she’s reached the top, she rearranges her apron as a sort of makeshift bag and begins selecting apples. Turning over each one and checking closely for blemishes before deciding whether it’s a keeper or should be tossed to the ground below.

A few branches away she spots the biggest, juiciest red apple she’s ever seen – so shiny she can practically see her own reflection in the speckled peel. It’s a bit of a stretch, but if she props her right leg up on the main trunk and bends her left at an awkward angle and can manage to grab onto the branch above for extra balance, she might just –

The loud staccato blast of trumpets nearly sends Rey plummeting to her death.

“ _Shit!”_ She scrambles to regain her hold, tearing up her fingernails as they scrape against the hard bark of the tree in the process, but manages to grab onto one of the limbs at the last second. Dangling halfway upside down like some sort of deranged monkey while at least seven or eight soldiers carrying the royal banner ride past underneath her.

They take no notice of the wild woman above them, and for that Rey is grateful. Instead thundering past with little or no regard for their surroundings, shouting nonsense about finding someone that she doesn’t bother to try and decipher.

It’s not as if it has anything to do with her.

She takes a moment to steady the racing beat of her heart, then pulls herself back into the tree with a grunt and checks the contents of her apron. Thankfully she didn’t lose too many apples in the chaos, and it only takes her a couple minutes to find a few more before she’s ready to climb down and return to the manor.

The sun will be cresting over the treetops soon, and that means the Baroness will be rising any minute and the wrath of a late breakfast is not one Rey wants to incur.

On the second to last branch she decides to jump down instead, and she can’t help the laugh that bursts out of her when she falls into an unladylike heap – her skirts coming untied and twisting around her ankles.

“Positively disgraceful.” She grins at the sky and pushes herself back to her feet, gathering up her apron with all of her hard-earned fruits and heading back towards the house.

As she climbs the stairs near the front of the yard, she hears some sort of grunting coming from the direction of the fields - accompanied by Artoo snorting. _What on earth?_

“Come on, you beast! Come on!”

Rey turns back just in time to see a man with a cloak obscuring his face mount Artoo and kick his sides, causing the old horse to bolt forward and urging him to jump over the hedge.

“Oh no you don’t!” She runs back down the stairs, apples tumbling around her feet as she goes. They’re all falling pell-mell out of her apron and no doubt bruising their otherwise perfect exteriors, but it doesn’t matter. She has to stop this thief, and all she needs is one apple to do it.

Apparently unaware that he’s been discovered, the man rides directly towards her. She waits until he’s just within range and then hurls the apple as hard as she can directly at his head.

It soars through the air and hits him right between the eyes, taking him by surprise and knocking him clean off the horse – rolling backwards into the pile of hay she and Paulette had put out the night before for the animals.

A fitting landing spot for swine.

“Thief!” She picks up another apple to throw at him while he struggles to stand up, satisfied when it hits his shoulder and he cries out in pain. “This will teach you to steal my father’s horse!”

“Please –“ He holds up his hand to try and block her next blow, his defense somewhat impeded by the way his cloak has become wrapped around his head, and Rey simply shifts her aim and hits him on the thigh. “My own has slipped a shoe and I had no choice!”

The _audacity!_ To think there is any justifiable excuse that could merit stealing another person’s property. What sort of _entitled, arrogant, insufferable -_ “And our choice is what?” She cries, “To let you!?”

Rey picks up two more apples and hurls both of them one right after the other, hitting him on the head and back respectively, and he grunts and jerks away.

“Ow! I was merely borrowing it!”

“Get out or I’ll wake the house!”

“ _OW!_ Son of a –“ He finally manages to untangle the heavy cloak, twisting it around and throwing it backwards so that it hangs off his shoulders like it should. His hood falls off as well, revealing a shirt embroidered with the royal crest and a face Rey knows well from the miniature portrait Paige always carries with her.

_Oh my god!_

She immediately drops to her knees, her head bowed low enough that she can feel hay and grass pressing into her skin, no doubt leaving marks, and stretches her arms out in front of her in supplication. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not see you.”

“Your aim would suggest otherwise.”

_Was that a laugh?_ No – she must have misheard. He’s definitely furious with her. She hears him grunt but doesn’t dare look up at him. Eye contact would probably come across as impertinent at best, or treasonous at worst.

She just assaulted the prince. The heir to the throne. What was she _thinking_?

“And for that I know I must die.” 

She watches his boots as he walks towards Artoo, retrieving the reins, and Rey waits for the sound of a sword unsheathing, or perhaps a small jeweled dagger. That seems like the kind of weapon a prince would carry. Hopefully he knows enough of hunting to make this as swift and painless as possible. Although after being hit so many times, he might want to punish her first.

Princes in fairytales are always chivalrous, noble, and kind, but Rey has absolutely no experience with them in real life. What if the books are wrong?

“Then, uh,” He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words, and she waits for him to issue her death sentence, “Speak of this to no one and I shall be lenient.”

_What?_

He climbs back onto Artoo, and Rey watches from the corner of her eye as he circles the horse around her. She still doesn’t dare lift her head, and her long hair is obscuring most of her face and vision, so she can’t quite tell if he’s serious or if perhaps he just prefers to deal the blow from higher up.

It seems too good to be true that he would simply forgive her and ride away.

“We have other horses, Highness,” She offers, swallowing down the tremors in her voice. _Don’t let him know you’re afraid. Be brave, Rey._ “Younger, if that is your wish.”

The prince scoffs harshly. “I wish for nothing more than to be free from my gilded cage.” There’s a rustling sound, and then to Rey’s amazement gold coins start to fall in front of her. “For your silence.”

He digs into Artoo’s sides and takes off across the field and into the woods, avoiding the main road where the soldiers had ridden earlier, and Rey sits up and watches him go in utter amazement.

“He’s just… leaving.” Not only that, but instead of punishing her – he _paid_ her.

She snatches up the gold coins and counts them out in her hand. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. _Twenty-five_ gold pieces. It’s more money than she’s ever seen with her own two eyes, and she curls her fingers around it – digging in, as if clutching them as tight as she can makes them more real.

Rey bursts into the kitchen through the heavy wooden door, grinning from ear to ear and throwing her hand over her chest to try and catch her breath.

“Goodness child!” Louise exclaims, “You scared me half to death!” She wags a dough-covered finger in her direction before returning to the task at hand, and Rey laughs.

“I’m sorry.” She makes her way over to the table, depositing her apples in the basket there before throwing her arms around Louise for a hug – not worrying in the slightest about the flour getting on her dress. “I ran here as fast as I could.”

“What’s got you into such a tizzy this morning?”

“You’ll never believe who –“

“Ooh! She’s in one of her moods!” Paulette hurries down the stairs, shaking her head and blowing out a breath as she wipes her hands off on her apron. Something must have happened upstairs with the Baroness, and Rey pulls a face - she can only guess what might have set her off today.

But no, she's determined not to let anything dampen her spirits. Not after such a miracle. 

“Did the sun rise in the east?” Louise shoots back, giving the bread dough an extra firm punch before adding more flour and turning it over, and Rey laughs again – a giddy sound of unconstrained joy that has both women staring at her with wide-eyes.

“Yes, Louise, it did.” She pulls the handful of coins out of her pocket, holding them out for both of them to see and gape at. “And it is going to be a beautiful day!”

“Child!” Paulette exclaims. “Where did you get this?”

“From an angel of mercy!” She walks over to Louise, taking her dough-covered hands in her own and squeezing tight. “And I know just what to do with it.”

“Maurice?”

“If the Baroness can sell your husband to pay her taxes, then these can certainly bring him home! The court will have to let him go.”

“But the king has sold him,” Louise bemoans, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but Rey firmly shakes her head. God put the prince in her path this morning for a reason, and she knows that this is it.

They can save Maurice. They _will_.

“This is our home and I will not see it fall apart.”

Paulette makes a noise between a gasp and a sob and throws her arms around both Rey and Louise, nearly crushing them with the strength of her hug. It could be suffocating, but Rey loves these two women like they’re her own family and so she simply leans into it and hugs them back.

Once they’ve stepped away, wiping away more than a few tears between them, Rey points to the apples. “Now, who’s going to help me make this pie so that I can deliver it to Finn?”

“You’re making a pie for Finn?”

The three of them turn in unison to find Rose standing on the last step, staring at each of them in turn before her eyes land on Rey and she cocks her head – waiting for an answer.

“Um… yes.” Rey finally nods, surreptitiously slipping the coins back into her pocket. She’s not sure she’s ever seen one of her stepsisters in the kitchen before. It’s entirely incongruous with everything she knows. “Today is his birthday.”

“Oh.” Rose stops for a moment, folding her arms together and tapping her index finger against her elbow while she thinks through whatever it is she’s trying to say next. “Would it be alright if I helped?”

Rey’s chin falls to the floor and she can see Paulette’s and Louise’s do the same. None of the Tico women have _ever_ offered to help with anything. Eschewing manual labor is practically their family creed. 

Rose seems to catch onto this, because her face quickly hardens from one of open curiosity to a more practiced stony indifference that would make her sister proud. “Not because I want to, of course, but because he painted me that little landscape for my birthday a few months ago and Mother always says the only good debt is the one other people owe you. I don’t like being in Finn’s debt.”

Something about the way she says it – the forced bluntness that doesn’t match the insecurity in her eyes – has Rey softening. It’s strange and unusual and certainly unexpected, but she isn’t going to turn her away.

“Of course you can help, if you want to. We’ll start with the crust.” Rey offers Rose a tentative smile and points at where Louise has been working the dough, and something inside her warms when Rose’s mouth quirks upwards in return.

"Show me what to do." Rose rolls up her sleeves, accepting an apron from Paulette while fixing a look of determination on her face. 

For a moment Rey wonders if this is a trick somehow, if any moment the Baroness is going to come marching in and accuse Rey of corrupting her daughter or some other nonsense, but when Rose merely looks at her - patiently waiting for her instructions and without guile - she sighs, letting her shoulders drop and her muscles relax. Maybe this will be a good thing.

This morning has certainly been full of surprises. 

****

The first words out of Finn’s mouth when he opens the door are, “I love you Rey Kenobi, have I told you that? Best friend a man ever had.” He takes the offered pie out of her hands like it’s the most precious gift, holding it gingerly with his fingertips and lifting it to his nose – inhaling deeply. His eyes falling closed as he lets out an almost obscene moan.

“I’m glad you think so! Happy birthday!” She replies cheerily, pushing past him and into his small apartment turned workshop.

It's sparse in comfort, but stuffed with the tools of his trade. There are multiple canvases of varying sizes featuring all manner of subjects propped up against the walls. A few of them, Rey knows, feature her because that’s what friends do when their friends are trying to become master artists, but she’d asked Finn ages ago not to leave those where anyone could see them. (Actually, she’d asked him to burn them, but as paints and canvasses aren’t cheap, he’d adamantly refused.) Props are stacked in various formations and various places around the room, fabrics drape the furniture in interesting shapes to catch the light from the windows in different ways, and Finn’s precious box of paints lies open in front of his easel.

“What are you working on today?” She comes around to the front of it so that she can see his project, taking in the half-formed vase of flowers he’s only barely begun to outline.

“Master Phasma has me working on more still-lifes. She thinks I haven’t quite got the hang of shading reds properly.” His voice comes out garbled, and Rey looks up to find him already a quarter of the way through the pie, his cheeks full and flecks of the crust sticking to the corner of his mouth.

“She never thinks you do anything properly.” Rey looks out through the window down on where Master Phasma is painting in the garden and scrunches up her nose. “You need to leave her and find a _real_ master who appreciates you and your talent.”

Finn huffs out a laugh and scrapes another helping out of the pie tin. “Masters aren’t exactly easy to find. You’ve really outdone yourself with the pie this time. I think it’s your best yet.”

Rey props her elbows against the windowsill and leans back, watching Finn carefully to gauge his response to the information she's about to tell him. “I had help.”

“Paulette and Louise.” Finn nods.

“No,” Rey waits, pausing for dramatic effect, “ _Rose_.”

An awful spluttering noise bursts out of him as he struggles to swallow around a sudden coughing fit. His eyes watering from the pie lodged in the back of his throat. And Rey has to press her lips together not to laugh while thumping him hard on the back.

“You can’t be serious!” He finally blurts out, leaning onto the easel for support and staring at her in shock.

“I am. She requested to help herself. Said something about owing you a debt for the painting you gave her.” She raises a single eyebrow, waiting, and Finn fidgets underneath her expectant gaze. “You never told me you gave her a present.”

“It was just something small,” Finn mumbles, picking up his brush for something to do with his hands, “You said the Baroness only ever gives her things Paige has thrown away.”

Rey hums, smiling at him, and Finn reaches out to shove her away with a laugh.

“Stop! It’s not what you think.”

“You don’t know what I think,” Rey shoots back.

He laughs and goes back to his painting, and she uses the opportunity to observe him. He’s really quite grown up now. A man in his own right, and a very handsome one at that. Just because she doesn’t think about him romantically, doesn’t mean she doesn’t notice when other girls in the village do. It makes sense that he might be interested in finding a sweetheart. She just never expected it might be her stepsister.

She’s not at all sure how to feel about it.

Never mind about that though. She can ponder these revelations more later on tonight when she has the time. For now there’s something much more pressing at hand. “I actually came here for two reasons today.”

“What’s the second one?”

“I need to borrow a dress.”

“What?” He looks up at her curiously, brush still pressed to the canvas, and Rey points at the large wooden chest he has in the corner.

“A dress. I know Master Phasma gives you old ones to use as references for your paintings. I need to borrow one. Just for the afternoon,” She rushes to add, “I promise I’ll return it before anyone knows it’s missing.”

“What do you need a fancy dress for?”

Rey sniffs, fiddling with one of the loose threads on the hem of her sleeve. “I’m going to the castle to buy back Maurice.”

“Are you insane?!" Finn cries out, gesticulating wildly and getting flecks of paint on his trousers. "How do you plan on doing that?”

“I had a run in with the prince this morning – it’s a long story – and he gave me money. Enough to pay off the Baroness’s taxes and free Maurice. I have to go, Finn. This could be our only chance.”

“I – You – The prince – Huh?“ He sputters, and Rey rolls her eyes.

Without waiting for his permission, she walks across the room and opens the chest herself. Rifling through the heaps of fabric for something suitable.

“Have you lost your marbles?” He finally manages to shout, ignoring her when she shushes him. “Do you know what the punishment is for servants who dress above their station?” He marches over and holds up his hand directly in front of her face where she can't ignore it. “Five days in the stocks!”

She bats it away impatiently. “You’d do the same for me, admit it.”

“Me? Pretend to be a courtier? Prancing around like some nobleman.” Finn snorts and shakes his head. “I’ve never even been to court. And neither have you! Neither of us would know how to act.”

“That just means I won’t be recognized. Now help me choose a dress so I can be on my way.”

Most of the items are men’s clothing or togas that she wouldn’t dare wear outside a studio (she’d only agreed to wearing one once for one of Finn’s mythological-inspired paintings before declaring she’d never do it again), before finding a beautiful green one. She holds it up with a smile, only to find Finn already shaking his head.

“No –“ He comes up beside her and finds what he’s looking for immediately. “You want this one.”

The dress he picks is burnt orange, the color of dying leaves in the autumn, and Rey wrinkles her nose. “That one? But that one’s garbage!”

“The one you’re holding belonged to Madame Hutt.” Finn argues, trying to shove the balled-up fabric into her hands and sighing when she protests. “It would comfortably fit three of you.”

Rey makes a noise of disgust at the thought of wearing something belonging to that slug of a woman and drops the green dress back in the box, accepting the orange one from Finn when he holds it out to her. “The garbage will do.”

She ducks behind the folding screen in the corner and strips off her dress, tossing it over the top to hang and leaving her dressed only in her white shift. She’d washed it the night before specifically for this purpose and hopefully it’s not too worse for wear after her adventure in the orchard that morning.

“They’ll never buy it,” Finn warns, calling out to her from across the room, “You’re far too sweet.”

“They’ll never buy a servant with twenty-five gold coins, either,” Rey tosses back, stepping into the dress and pulling it up to her waist, “I am Maurice’s only hope.”

“And the Baroness? What’d you tell her?”

“If she asks, the others will say I’m out picking wildflowers.” She pulls the sleeves up over her arms, tying them to the main part of the dress at the shoulders, and smooths out the skirt as much as she can. It’s much heavier than she’s used to – thicker and finer than even the dress her father had bought her as a child - and she feels utterly foreign in her own body. The back of the dress hangs open, as she cannot reach the stays herself, and she slowly creeps around the side of the screen. “Don’t you dare laugh.” She calls out in warning. “I’m coming out.”

She walks around the divider and anxiously looks up, blushing when she finds Finn staring at her with eyes as round as saucers.

“What happened to Rey?”

“Shut up.” She groans, walking over and slugging him in the arm, and Finn laughs. “I need you to lace up the back.”

She turns and Finn does his best, cursing a few times as he struggles with the complicated laces, before finally knotting them at the top.

“What about the shoes?” He points to her feet where she’s still wearing her plain brown work shoes instead of the fancy slippers, and Rey tucks them underneath the dress.

“The other ones are too big. I’ll trip all over myself if I try to wear them and give myself away.”

“Well…” Finn takes her by the shoulders, turning her around and holding her at arm’s length, looking up and down at the dress with approval, “Nobody will be looking at your feet, I promise.”

Insecurity floods through her limbs, making her stomach churn and her joints lock up, and Rey grabs at Finn's arm for support lest she faint and bring an end to her rescue mission before it can even begin. “I can do this, right Finn?” 

He carefully pries her fingers off his arm with a smile and turns her around to face the door, giving her a gentle push. “Of course you can, peanut.”

Bolstered by his faith in her, Rey nods to herself and walks out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're picking up the pace now, guys! Lots more Rey & Poe interactions to come <3
> 
> Also, it occurred to me after I'd already written this that I alluded to spring in the second chapter and here I have her picking apples. Agriculturally speaking this wouldn't be possible at that time of year, but seeing as it's already written hopefully you'll suspend your disbelief for the sake of Finn's birthday. Lol!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe tries to escape, but is prevented by a rather unexpected arrival. 
> 
> Once back at the castle he meets a certain captivating young woman trying to free her servant.

****

It turns out getting pummeled by apples is not exactly conducive to a comfortable horseback ride. Especially when one is riding at top speed through a forest to try and escape the royal guard that is in close pursuit. Poe’s head aches and the spot between his eyebrows throbs with each hoof step. He doesn’t blame the servant girl for not recognizing him immediately, nor does he blame her for trying to stop a thief, but did she have to have such excellent _aim_?

Poe pulls the reins to the left, leading the horse deeper into the woods where he hopes the royal guard will find it harder to track him. The old horse resists at first, tugging his head sharply to the right, but Poe gives him an extra kick. “Come on you stubborn animal!”

The horse snorts and fights him, even as he does as Poe asks, and not for the first time that morning Poe wishes he still had Black One with him. It had been pure rotten bad luck that he’d slipped a shoe just as they passed Baroness Tico’s manor, and he’d had to leave his faithful friend behind – trading the kingdom’s best horse for an ancient fossil.

The fact that the royal guard hasn’t caught up to him yet is a marvel.

They gallop over a ridge and down the other side, ducking and dodging the many thick branches that threaten to do much more damage to his head than a simple piece of fruit, only to find their path blocked by a smaller road – and a carriage stopped in the middle of it.

Twenty thuggish men swarm the carriage, shouting and barking orders, and it only takes Poe a minute to realize what’s going on.

“I wouldn’t do this if I were you,” An old man calmly, but firmly, warns one of the thieves – stepping aside easily when the man tries to punch him and smirking when the fist lands on the hard wood of the carriage instead, causing the man to fall to his knees in pain. “There is no honor in thievery.”

He whips his staff around, promptly thwacking one of the other men over the back and sending him to his knees next to his partner in crime, and Poe almost laughs until he sees how angry that makes their leader. A thin and haggard, but strong looking man who pulls out a dagger faster than Poe can blink and holds it to the old man’s stomach.

“Listen here you old fool. Whether you live or die today is up to you.” He presses more firmly with the dagger, and Poe can see the old man flinch even from a distance. “I’d choose wisely.”

Suddenly one of the thieves looks up in Poe’s direction and whistles to his men, and the chaos becomes even more frenetic.

Poe’s heart stops, his hand flying to where he’d normally have a dagger attached to his hip and finding it empty. In his rush that morning it hadn’t occurred to him that he might need a weapon – an oversight that’s surely going to cost him now. He’s not bad at hand-to-hand combat, but even he can’t defeat twenty men all on his own.

Dying at the hands of a rogue band of thieves is not how he thought his life would end.

But instead of advancing towards him, they point at something else and then start to flee. A few of them cutting the horses free from the carriage and climbing on to make a faster getaway.

“It’s the royal guard!” One of them shouts, and Poe spins around in his seat to find that they’re right. It’s not him they’re afraid of, but the king’s soldiers. The royal guard has just crested the top of the hill behind him.

 _Damn!_ Poe thinks with a groan. _How did they catch up so fast!?_

“God, I don’t _believe_ this. Come on.” He kicks the horse’s sides to urge him forward, intending to ride past the carriage and the thieves in the hope that the guard will get waylaid trying to help them, but as he draws near the old man jumps out – holding his staff up in Poe’s way.

“Please, sir, you must help! The sacred texts! That man there –“ He grabs onto Poe’s reins and points in the direction of one of the thieves who had stolen a horse, galloping away with a satchel slung over his shoulder, “- He’s getting away!”

“I have my own problems; I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” Poe shakes his head, trying to tug the reins free. The other man’s grip is surprisingly strong though, and he steadfastly refuses to let go.

“They are a gift for the queen. They cannot be lost!”

Trumpets blare, loud bursts that make Poe jump and warn that the guard is closing in fast, and he groans and glances back at them before looking back at the old man. He’s a bit rough around the edges behind his salt and pepper beard and long hair, but his eyes look kind and Poe reluctantly feels a surge of sympathy towards him.

With another groan and a roll of his eyes, he nods, and the old man releases the reins.

“Hyah!” The horse he’d borrowed from the Ticos is old, that much he can tell, but he seems to spring to life at the chase. Thundering towards the thief with a level of zeal he hadn’t seemed to feel when Poe had initially started to ride him.

Now he hardly even requires direction, apparently understanding the urgency of their quest, and Poe doesn’t have to do much other than hang on while they gallop through the woods. Equal parts amused and annoyed that the old beast couldn’t be bothered to move this quickly when Poe had repeatedly tried to make him do so earlier, but one request from a stranger and he takes off like a spirited stallion on a mission.

They catch up to the other man in a matter of minutes and Poe speeds up until they’re side by side, then – after a brief prayer that he won’t break his neck - he jumps onto the other horse – taking both animal and master by surprise and forcing the horse to rear back, knocking them both off.

Poe hits the ground first with a hard thump, the thief landing on top of him and hitting him in the stomach with his elbow, knocking the wind out of his lungs with a painful jab.

If he goes to bed tonight without his entire body being covered in bruises, it’ll be a miracle.

But there isn’t time to dwell on the pain. The man jumps to his feet and begins to run off and with a loud grunt Poe gets up and follows after him. Chasing him over logs and tripping through bushes down an ever-increasing slope.

The terrain makes running with any actual speed difficult and unless Poe changes tactics his chances of actually catching this man are slim. Looking around at their environment, he devises a plan. If he can get close enough for the high ground to give him an advantage, he might just be able to –

Poe leaps, diving forward and tackling the thief to the ground.

They tumble and roll, sliding through leaves and underbrush and mud, and Poe looks up just in time to see that the ground in front of them is rapidly disappearing.

Grabbing onto the satchel – now loose from their somersaults down the hill – he's able to tug it away from the other man and dig his heels into the dirt to stop. Barely managing to avoid catastrophe.

The thief, however, is not so fortunate, and Poe watches him roll straight off the cliff and down into the water of the river below.

He crawls to the edge and looks over, breathing a sigh of relief when the man’s head bobs above the water. Thankfully the current is slow, and he doesn’t appear to have any issues swimming towards the bank.

Satisfied that the man won’t die, Poe flops over onto his back and finally allows himself to breathe. _What a day!_

It’s a long walk now that he’s not driven by a hot pursuit, and by the time Poe retrieves both horses and makes it back to the carriage the sun is high in the sky, the heat of it soaking into his shirt and causing droplets of sweat to form along his hairline (maybe a plunge in the river wouldn't have been such a bad thing). The royal guard is there as well, helping the old man arrange his things and clearly waiting for Poe, and he lets out a long, heavy sigh that seems to come from somewhere deep in his bones.

“Your Highness you promised.” The head of the guard sees him first, pointing his finger accusingly, and Poe nods with a heavy head.

So much for his freedom.

“I know.” He slides off the borrowed horse’s back and limps towards the old man, holding out the leather satchel. “I thought I’d try to see the world before I gave up my life to god and country.”

“Why on earth did you stop?” The old man asks rather impertinently, given the fact that it’s his fault and by his request alone that Poe was prevented from completing his escape, and Poe grits his teeth as he mutters a sarcastic reply.

“I suppose because I lack conviction. You _claimed_ it was a matter of life and death.”

“Did I?” The man smiles, his blue eyes twinkling with a humor that Poe doesn’t share, and he clenches his hands into fists at his side once the man accepts the satchel.

_I must not shout at an old man. I must not shout at an old man. I must not shout at an old man._

“I suppose it is.” The old man slips the leather strap through the silver buckle and pulls out the books, holding them out for Poe to take. “These belonged to my sister, and it’s high time I returned them to her.” 

The leather is old and worn, the engravings on the covers – once gold and glossy – now chipped and dimmed from years of use, and Poe flips open the first one to find handwritten letters written in a fancy scrawl: _The History of the Skywalker Family_.

“Skywalker?” Poe’s head shoots up, his eyes immediately landing on the old man with new curiosity. “As in –“

“Master Luke Skywalker, at your service.” He doesn’t bow, merely grunts and takes the books back, returning them to their satchel with extra care. “The queen is my sister.”

“Sir -” Poe steps forward eagerly, practically bouncing on the heels of his feet. Gone is the exhaustion he’d felt only moments ago – replaced by the elation of finding such a legendary man merely by chance. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for years. Leia said you were impossible to get ahold of. That she’d invited you to visit many times and you never accepted.”

“I find it’s more entertaining to show up when one is least expected. Adds a certain…” He taps his chin, looking up to the sky for a moment, “Flare to one’s arrival.”

 _He does seem to like a dramatic entrance._ Poe privately laughs at the thought. The court will no doubt be buzzing for weeks with gossip about the great Master Skywalker nearly being killed by thieves.

Although something tells Poe that there’s more to Luke Skywalker than meets the eye, and that he would not have been such an easy target.

“Isn’t this fortunate, sire?” The captain smirks, pretending to fiddle with his gloves and sitting a little straighter in his saddle. “Now we can escort both of you back to the castle together.”

Poe chooses to let that slide. He will not be goaded by the captain of the guard into a petty argument. No matter how much he might take issue with the word _escort_. 

“So, you’ve come to stay?” He grabs Luke by both shoulders, ignoring the look of surprise on his face and carrying on in his excitement. “Master Skywalker you could not have better timing. You are the founder of forward thinking and my father the king of backward. Perhaps you can talk him into reason.”

“What?” Luke looks helplessly at the captain of the guard, who huffs out a chuckle and gestures to the prince.

“Prince Poe suffers from an arranged marriage, Master Skywalker, among other things.” He mutters the last bit under his breath, but Poe can still hear him and he shoots the captain a look of annoyance before turning back to Luke.

“Will you help me?”

Luke shrugs noncommittally. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Fantastic!” Poe exclaims, clapping him on the back and grinning from ear to ear. “But first we must return this horse. Otherwise I’m worried the servant girl I borrowed it from will find me at the castle and assassinate me in my sleep.”

****

The old Kenobi manor where the Baroness lives has seen better days. It’s evident from the high-quality building materials and masonry that it was once a great house, but in the years since the lord of the manor died it’s clearly struggled to maintain the previous status it enjoyed. Yet there are some signs that it’s still being looked after and cultivated – in the gardens along the pathway, in the distant fields and orchards that Poe can see, and in the well-tended livestock. Someone here must still care for the place.

Although Poe very much doubts it’s the lady of the house, based on rumors he’s heard from other courtiers.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Baroness Tico comes sweeping out the door before they even have a chance to dismount. Smiling in a way that makes Poe’s blood curdle and curtsying low to the ground with a little too much embellishment for his taste. By his age he’s learned to tell the difference between genuine fealty and illusion for the sake of one’s own gain.

“Ah! Your Highness,” She bows her head, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and Poe has to conceal his shudder, “What a lovely surprise. To what do we owe this great honor?”

“I’m returning your horse, Baroness.” Poe gestures for one of the soldiers to bring the beast forward, chuckling privately to himself when the horse plods along at his earlier pace. Apparently, he only knows the meaning of haste when a robbery is at foot.

“Oh?” The Baroness returns to her full height, not bothering to even glance at the animal, her voice light and airy. “Was he missing?”

_She’s definitely not the one taking care of the animals then._

“Yes. I took the liberty of borrowing it this morning. I’m afraid I might have scared the wits out of one of your servants a, uh, a young lady with quite a good arm, actually.” He rubs his sore forehead, glancing around warily to make sure she isn’t about to emerge with more ammunition. For all he knows she might think he’s back to steal a cow this time.

The Baroness purses her lips, her face pinching together as if she’s just swallowed a lemon. “She’s mute, my lord.”

“Really?” Poe laughs. “She spoke quite forcefully.”

“Well, it comes and goes.” Baroness Tico quickly backtracks, gesturing dismissively. “But as always, Your Highness is welcome to anything he wishes. Anything at all.”

Right on cue the Baroness’s two daughters practically fall through the doorway, brushing their hair away from their faces and straightening their heavy brocade skirts before curtsying in unison. They look flustered, and he suspects they ran upstairs to change into their finest gowns the moment they saw him coming. 

“Sire,” The Baroness’s smile is slow like syrup and sickly sweet, “May I present my two daughters, Paige and Rose.”

“Indeed.” Poe nods and smiles politely. “We’ve met. At last summer’s regatta, I believe.”

“You have an excellent memory, Sire.” The Baroness smiles even more widely, and Poe wishes he could take back his comment. He has a feeling any encouragement from him is too much where her daughters are concerned. “Although you seemed to be quite… preoccupied by another young lady at the time. We are so looking forward to celebrating your engagement.”

“Yes, well,” His gaze wanders to Luke and the hope he brings, “There have been several new developments.”

“These _developments_ , I trust, are for the best?” She arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow, her words dripping with vicious curiosity, and Poe presses his lips shut.

He’s already said far too much.

“Let us hope so. Good day ladies.” He nods at each of them in turn and then urges his horse forward, eager to flee the awkwardness as quickly as possible. However much those women might hope otherwise (and he’s positive now they do hope – _unfortunately_ ) there’s nothing for him at that manor.

****

The castle grounds are bustling with their usual midday activity. Courtiers going to and fro, servants, soldiers, tradesmen hoping to sell their goods to the royal household. There’s rarely a day when the courtyard isn’t hectic and lively, and today is no different. A few people point and comment at his arrival, but Poe pays them no mind. There’s no need for anyone to know that he’d run away – for all they know he simply went to retrieve Master Skywalker. An arrival that’s sure to cause more excitement than his own once word spreads.

He’s used to drowning out all of the chatter and chaos, letting it fade into a background hum, but a woman’s voice cuts through all the rest – loud and demanding.

“Release this man! Or I shall take this matter to the king.”

It takes him a moment to locate it, but after a second Poe spots a young woman, finely dressed in a shade of orange that seems to burn with the afternoon heat, her brown hair held up by pearl-embellished netting, having a heated conversation with the man in charge of prisoner transport. He’s a giant brute of a man, sitting at the front of a wagon that’s been converted into a portable jail cell full of men, and he dwarfs her, yet she stands firmly rooted in place holding onto the reins of his horse so that he can't drive away.

“The king’s the one who sold him!” The man shouts, spit visibly spraying everywhere. It’s obvious they’ve been arguing since before the prince arrived, and the man seems seconds away from climbing off the wagon and _really_ fighting with her. “He’s someone else’s property now.”

“He’s not property at all you ill-mannered slug!” She shouts back, taking everyone nearby by surprise. It’s unheard of language, coming from a lady, and Poe can’t help but smile at the entertainment of it. “Do you honestly think it right to chain people like chattel? I demand you release him at once!”

“Get out of my way!” The man’s practically apoplectic, leaning forward and screaming at the top of his lungs, and Poe decides it’s time to intervene.

Prompting his horse forward and sitting up as straight as he can to give himself extra height, Poe adopts his most princely tone of voice and carefully asks, “You dare raise your voice to a lady, sir?”

The man instantly pales, his eyes going wide in both shock and mortification, but it’s the lady Poe’s more interested in. She seems to go stiff at the sound of his voice, as if she’s been caught doing something wrong, and when she turns she moves slowly - keeping her head bowed and curtsying awkwardly.

“Highness, I, uh, forgive me sire,” The brute stammers, gesticulating wildly between the woman and himself and fidgeting in his seat, “I meant no disrespect. It’s just, uh, I’m following orders here. It’s my job to take these criminals and thieves to the coast.”

“A servant is not a thief, Your Highness,” The woman interjects, still looking at the ground but speaking with conviction, “And those that are cannot help themselves.”

That is _not_ what he expected. Never has a courtier spoken back to him like this, nor have they defended criminals. It’s… fascinating.

Poe swings his leg over the saddle and dismounts, handing the reins over to one of the soldiers before stepping closer to the young lady and gesturing for her to continue. “Really? Well then, by all means, enlighten us.”

She licks her lips, taking in a deep breath, and finally looks up at him, and Poe is all at once struck breathless by her beauty. Emotive hazel eyes, a lightly tanned face covered in endearing freckles, soft pink lips, and dark hair that he wishes weren’t pulled up and hidden away (minus a few attractive stray curls by her ears that any other courtier would have fixed long ago). And something about her that makes him certain she’s inclined to smile often, and that in turn makes him want to smile, too.

Something tugs deep inside his gut – a feeling that he’s seen her before – but he pushes it away. There's no doubt he'd remember her if he had.

It takes her a moment to find her voice, her eyes darting between him and all the soldiers – nervous now that she has an audience - but eventually she squares her shoulders and says, “If you suffer your people to be ill-educated and their manners corrupted from infancy and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded, sire, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?”

Is he staring? He’s pretty certain he’s staring. Probably wide-eyed and mouth gaping like an idiot. But he can’t help it. This woman, a _stranger,_ just soundly put him in his place. He can think of nothing to say but, “Well, there you have it. Release him.”

“But, sire –“ The man driving the wagon gruffly protests, looking as astounded as Poe feels, but there’s no way Poe’s going to allow her servant to be carted off after a speech like that. Anyone who fights so valiantly for someone they employ deserves respect and for their wishes to be granted.

“I _said_ release him.”

“Yes, sire.” The man begrudgingly agrees and dismounts, pulling the keys from his belt loop and making his way around to the backside of the wagon to unlock the giant padlock and let her servant free.

She smiles with all the brilliance of a thousand suns before hurrying around to the side of the cart, and Poe feels his heart constrict inside his chest in an entirely new and wonderful way. He stands there, rooted to the spot by this new emotion that he can’t even begin to name, watching while she whispers something to her servant before loudly stating, “Prepare the horses, we will leave at once.”

The servant nods, something of a conspiratorial smile on his face, and she whispers something else before walking back towards Poe. “I thank you, Your Highness.” She curtsies again, clearly bidding him farewell, and then walks past him and his men across the courtyard towards the exit.

But despite her dismissal, Poe finds he’s not quite ready for their conversation to be over, and he moves to follow after her – only to be distracted by the sound of joyous barking.

Beebee comes bounding out of the castle, bolting across the drawbridge and racing towards him while people leap out of the way, but instead of jumping all over Poe like he expects, he runs towards the young woman first. Circling around her skirts and nudging at her legs and hands for attention.

“Oh! Hello again.” She squats down for a moment to pet him, and Poe is even more confused. How could she possibly know his dog? And to the point where Beebee, a friendly dog no doubt, but not one to greet anyone so happily or before his own master, would be so thrilled to see her.

He jogs to catch up to her, coming around to stand in front of her so that he can get a better look at her face. “Beebee seems to think you’re old friends. Have we met?”

She quickly stands but keeps her head down – her attention firmly fixed on Beebee who is definitely not complaining about being her sole focus. His poor tail is close to breaking, it’s wagging so hard. “I do not believe so, Your Highness.”

“I could have sworn I knew every courtier in the province,” He adds, ducking his own head a bit to try and see her, and she promptly steps to the side to walk around him. 

“Well,” She hesitates, stopping awkwardly when he steps in front of her again, “I am visiting a cousin.”

“Who?”

“My cousin.”

“Yes,” He laughs, “You said that, which one?”

She finally looks at him, cocking her head to the side and furrowing her eyebrows. “The only one I have, sire.”

She steps around him again, this time walking a little faster, leaving Poe no choice but to follow. “Are you coy on purpose or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?”

“No!” She stops, shaking her head, but then blushes a pretty shade of pink and continues towards the exit. “And yes.”

“Well then tell me your cousin’s name so that I might call upon her to learn who you are. For anyone who can quote Thomas More is well worth the effort.”

That finally catches her attention, and she spins around to look at him – a smile on her face again – and Poe finds that he rather likes being the one who put it there.

“The prince has read Utopia?” Her eyes sparkle with curiosity and there’s no mistaking the way her voice practically caresses the book’s title. It must hold some significance for her, and Poe can’t resist taking the opportunity to tease her a bit.

“I found it sentimental and dull.” He shrugs. “The plight of the everyday rustic bores me.”

That seems to be the wrong thing to say, though. Instead of laughing or agreeing with him, her shoulders fall, her smile curling downwards into a frown, and she turns away. Clearly disappointed. “I gather you do not converse with many peasants.”

“Certainly not, no, naturally.” Is it natural though? He’s always thought so. Sure, he’s talked with peasants at the pub in town when drinking with Snap or back when he was a soldier, but as a general rule he maintains the class barriers society has dictated he must. It never occurred to him to do any differently, but based on her reaction and the way she’d spoken to her own servant, she must think quite the opposite. _Intriguing_.

“Excuse me, sire, but there is nothing natural about it.” She’s still walking, but talking as though she expects him to follow, and so he does - eager to hear what she has to say. “A country’s character is defined by its ‘everyday rustics’ as you call them. They are the legs you stand on and that position demands respect, not –“

“Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?” He jumps in front of her again, feeling equal parts interested and offended. No one has ever spoken to him to openly, so honestly, and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

But also a bit like a slap to the face.

“Well,” She bites her bottom lip, cautiously lifting her hand as if second guessing herself, before pointing back at the wagon, “You gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?”

Wow. _Two_ slaps to the face then. Now he really must know who she is. “Please, I beg of you, a name. Any name.”

“I – I –“ She stammers, her hands clenching and unclenching by her side and her cheeks turning that pretty rosy shade again, “I fear that the only name to leave you with is… is Countess Kira de Kryze.”

 _Kira_. It’s not quite what he expected, but it still suits her.

“There now.” He grins. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Poe!” Leia emerges from the gardens, interrupting their conversation and forcing Poe to unwillingly divert his attention away from Countess de Kryze. “You’re back!”

“Hello!” He waves, returning Leia’s smile and finding he doesn’t mind being back at the castle so much, if it makes his stepmother happy.

“The king would like a word with you – several, in fact.” She fixes him with a look that spells trouble, and Poe internally groans. He’s never going to hear the end of it for running away. _Again._ He wouldn’t be surprised if he returned to his room to find spikes installed on the windowsills.

“I’m sure he does. I shall be right in.”

He turns back to finish his conversation with the Countess, hoping to perhaps set up another meeting or ask if he can call on her tomorrow, but she’s already gone. Leaving behind a mystery Poe can hardly wait to solve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Poe & Rey, erm... I mean Kira! I suppose now the story really begins. ;)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Maurice return home victorious! And Rey ruminates over her conversation with the prince.

****

Rey spins and spins and spins, watching the green trees and white clouds and azure sky mix together into one big blurry canvas overhead. The colors and shapes becoming indistinguishable the longer she twirls. She spins until she’s so dizzy she nearly falls over, stumbling over rocks and pebbles and only managing not to land in the dirt thanks to Maurice’s quick reflexes.

It’s ridiculous and childish, but she can’t help it. How can she resist dancing when it’s been _such_ a wonderfully joyous day?

She dances through the fields as she and Maurice make their way home. Skipping along to the melody she hears in her head and pausing only to allow Maurice to catch up or to pick wildflowers. She plans to have a nice, full bouquet to give Paulette when they return to the manor (Louise’s gift will be far, far sweeter than some simple oleander and poppies).

Distantly, she can hear Maurice laughing at her, but she doesn’t mind. He’s giddy with relief, too, she can tell, and there’s nothing in the world that could stop her from dancing today.

They’d made a quick stopover at Finn’s so that Rey could change back into her regular clothes, and she’d told him with increasing excitement everything that had transpired at the castle – her tongue tripping over itself in her haste to share every detail of the afternoon with her best friend. From her arrival and momentary panic (she’d had to repeat the words _be brave_ to herself at least ten times before she’d been able to walk past a group of ladies gossiping near the gate), to her horror at finding Maurice being shoved into a cage on the back of a cart, to the shouting match she’d had with the cart’s driver (Finn had laughed at that, unsurprised), to the arrival of the last person Rey ever expected to see there – the _prince!_

When he’d borrowed Artoo that morning (she tries not to remember how she’d assaulted him with apples and accused him of thievery – why he let her go she still doesn’t understand) she’d assumed he had somewhere vastly important he had to be. Perhaps official business for the king or a matter relating to his rumored upcoming engagement. She definitely did not anticipate seeing him less than twelve hours later on his own doorstep.

But not only had he ridden into the courtyard with a whole host of men accompanying him – she thinks they might have been the same soldiers she saw that morning in the orchard – he’d intervened on her behalf! Stepping in at the exact moment she was sure the driver wouldn’t budge and commanding him to let Maurice go.

That’s twice she owes him for Maurice’s life now, a debt that sits funnily inside her chest. How does one repay a prince? And even if she could, she’s not certain he would appreciate whatever meager payment she could offer him.

For a man so interested in what she had to say and so quick to listen to her plight and help, he certainly can be – what’s the word he used? – _arrogant_. And she had dared to call him out on it! She can think of no excuse for her impertinence, only that there was something in the way his dark eyes sparkled... the way the corner of his mouth crooked up… the challenging arch to his eyebrows... that drew the words out of her before she could swallow them back down.

At first, she’d been afraid to look at him. Worried that one small glimpse of her face would have him calling out for the guard to arrest her. But then he’d asked for her opinion – something no one outside her tiny circle of friends has done in years – and his request had been so earnest she simply had to respond.

There was a moment when his eyes met hers that she swore he recognized her. A flash of emotion across his face that knocked the air out of her lungs and sent her heart racing. But then it passed, and he didn’t say anything, and so she’d begun to talk.

And talk.

And lecture.

And _argue_. 

Hoping he would lose interest and leave her alone to make her escape yet finding herself rising to his bait.

Not even the arrival of his dog (yet another shock today – perhaps rescuing his dog, no, _Beebee,_ yesterday helps even the score between them a bit), seemed to dissuade him from his persistent quest to learn her name. Which is absolutely the last thing she could ever give him.

His repeated requests to know who she is brought a whole other level of panic with it. As her sovereign she’s required to answer his questions, but as a prince who could just as easily throw her into the cage from which he’d just freed Maurice she’s really better off if he doesn’t know. She can’t imagine what horrors might unfold if he showed up at the manor looking for her.

Not that he would, of course. She’s a nobody. Unimportant. But still – if he did come to the manor for any reason and mentioned either the incident in the orchard or at the castle, the Baroness would skin her alive.

So when he’d changed his request from _her_ name to _any_ name, Rey had jumped at the chance. It was a thin loophole, but one she was quick to exploit. Combining her birth mother’s first name with her adoptive mother’s maiden name.

_Countess Kira de Kryze_.

Just saying it in her head makes her giggle softly to herself. Adding the title was, perhaps, a bit silly and frivolous, but it had sounded so lovely in her head. A beautiful daydream. For those few brief minutes, she wasn’t dirty, scavenging servant Rey – she was a beautiful, young countess who was free to debate philosophy with a prince.

But then the queen had arrived, and she'd seized the chance to make her escape, and reality had come crashing back down around her.

Not that it’s such a bad reality today, though.

No, today everything is wonderful.

They finally reach the manor just as the sun is sinking below the tree line, emerging through the woods to find Louise and Paulette working hard in the vegetable garden. Maurice calls out to them, waving one long arm over his grey head, and Rey can feel more laughter bubbling out of her when she sees Louise’s face.

She’s _glowing_. It’s as if twenty years have faded away, taking wrinkles and spots and dull salt and pepper hair with them and making her look healthy and happy in a way she hasn’t since the day Maurice was sold. She drops the hoe she was using and picks up her skirts in great heaps, holding them around her knees without a care for propriety and practically sprinting towards them. Her old bones finding their strength again. 

Maurice lets out a kind of deep, strangled noise and takes off running as well just as Paulette notices and cries out with joy, and it isn’t long before the four of them are huddled together – embracing as tightly as humanly possible.

“You did it, child.” Louise presses warm, firm kisses to the side of Rey’s head, and she smiles and ducks her chin to hide her blush. “You brought him back to me.”

“I had help,” Rey mutters, overwhelmed by their emotions and somewhat embarrassed to be the center of attention, “It was very fortunate Prince Dameron paid us a visit when he did.”

“He may have provided the funds, but you were the one who saved me. When I saw you walking up to that cart, dressed so fine and looking so pretty, you were just like your mother. Master Kenobi and Mistress Satine would be proud.” Maurice tucks her under his arm, resting his head on top of hers and squeezing her shoulder. “So proud.”

Choking back tears, Rey simply nods and wraps both arms around his torso. Letting herself be hugged by three of the most important people in her life.

Yes. A wonderful day indeed.

****

“Somebody’s in trouble.” Paige’s taunting, sing-song voice is the first thing that greets Rey when she walks into the dining room later that night to begin setting the table for supper. Her stepsister smirking as she looks up from the handkerchief she’s embroidering, a wicked glint in her eye.

_Do they know? Did someone see me in the dress?_ Rey sets down the stack of plates she was carrying and forces her facial muscles to relax – belying the ice rushing through her veins. “What do you mean?”

Without warning the Baroness storms into the room, shoving a chair out of her way before marching over to Rey and slapping her across the face with the back of her hand, sending Rey backwards onto the bench in front of the fireplace with a loud clatter. “You stupid, stupid girl! How dare you do this to me? To Paige? The whole thing makes me _sick_! It’s deceitfulness, Rey, and I will not have it in this house!”

“What did I do?” Rey scrambles to sit upright, cupping her hand over her smarting cheek and trying to think of any possible excuse she can to justify her actions this afternoon. The Baroness would never accept that she’d simply been trying to do the right thing, and mercy isn't in her vocabulary.

“Think, Rey,” Paige mocks, “Think really hard.”

_Do I play dumb or come right out and say it?_ Rey wars with her two options. On the one hand, if she pretends not to know and the Baroness calls her out on it – which she will – her punishment will surely be worse than it’s already bound to be. But on the other hand, if the Baroness doesn’t know the full extent of what she did (there’s a chance someone saw her in the dress, but doesn’t know anything else, and she can pass it off as play-acting), then Rey admitting more than she should will come back to bite her.

A small cough from the far corner catches her attention, and she glances over to find Rose sketching something on a scrap of paper. She turns it around just long enough for Rey to see a simple, yet accurate drawing of a horse.

Oh.

_The horse!_ That’s what this is about.

“Prince Dameron stole our horse this morning?” Rey says carefully, her voice tilting up at the end to turn the statement into a question, and Paige slowly claps – as if congratulating her for finally understanding. But Rey hardly has room to feel offended when she’s so relieved that none of them seem to know anything about her part in Maurice’s rescue.

“Yes,” the Baroness mocks, drawing out the word while looking at Rey like she’s stupid - the mirror image of her daughter, “And that would explain why he returned it this afternoon. How dare you let him surprise us like that!?”

“I’m sorry.” Rey forces herself to look contrite, playing the part. Although she doesn’t feel guilty about it at all. She’d been far too excited that morning and she honestly didn’t think anyone would notice or care that Artoo was missing. And there’s also the fact that the prince had paid her specifically for her silence. He’d trusted her not to say anything and so she hadn’t.

(A brief mention of the incident to Finn doesn’t count – he’s her best friend, she tells him everything.) 

Seemingly appeased, the Baroness steps back, giving Rey room to breathe properly again, and crosses the room to lay a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Luckily for you, Paige turned in a beautiful performance. She and the prince had _quite_ an interlude.”

Paige purses her lips in a self-satisfied smirk. “Yes, I shouldn’t be surprised if he drops by again.”

Rey grits her teeth to keep herself from retorting. She can hear their conversations in her head now – Prince Dameron complaining about how the lives of servants are so uninteresting to him, and Paige informing him that servants are a lot more fun to have if you glean entertainment from their misery.

_No_ , she quickly chastises herself, _Prince Dameron wouldn’t find pleasure in being cruel… he just… wouldn’t notice._

“Come, come,” the Baroness interrupts her uncharitable thoughts with a clap, “I must know exactly what was said. The simplest phrase can have a thousand meanings. He said you were forceful, what did you say?”

“I called him a thief, madam,” Rey admits, “I did not recognize him.”

Laughter erupts throughout the room and even Rose joins in. The three women cackling at Rey’s ignorance.

Normally she’d be quietly seething. Fuming with hatred at being made to feel naïve or incapable. But in this instance, knowing how the rest of the day played out, she’s _glad_ she didn’t recognize him. If she had she’d never have tried to stop him from borrowing Artoo, he’d never have paid her for her silence, and she wouldn’t have been able to rescue Maurice.

“Oh, Rey,” the Baroness sweeps across the room again and pinches Rey’s sore cheek with a pout, “You poor little country girl. A little nobody who wouldn’t know princes from paupers. Well, we must work extra hard to make sure the manor is spotless. We cannot have a royal bottom sitting on a dirty chaise, now can we?”

“No, madam.” Rey nods.

For a single moment the Baroness’s face softens, her normally cold eyes flickering with warmth, and her hand on Rey’s cheek could almost be considered a caress. “Sometimes you have these little quirks that so often remind me of your father. I –“

She shakes herself, recoiling as if she’s been burned, and spins around. Leaving Rey feeling cold and empty in her wake.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Paige cries out, pointing at where Maurice, Louise, and Paulette have just entered the room, and Rey hurries to her feet – gearing for an argument, should she need to jump to their defense.

Maurice shares a look with her and Rey nods encouragingly, prompting him to use the alibi they discussed on their walk home. “I have worked off your –“ the Baroness arches her eyebrow and he swiftly corrects himself, “ _My_ debts, madam, they told me I could go home.”

She’s confused, that much is obvious, and Rey can feel four people holding their breaths as they anxiously await her response, her own lungs burning with the effort while the seconds drag on before she finally waves her hand dismissively and says, “… Fine. That's fine. Go… catch a chicken.”

They move to leave, Rey moving forward so that she might slip out of the room unnoticed with them, when the Baroness holds up her hand to stop them. “By the way, I noticed the gilded mirror in the upstairs hallway was missing. Until it’s returned it shall come out of your pay.”

Paulette opens her mouth to protest, but Rey reaches out and wraps a hand around her wrist – mouthing the word _no_ before she can say something that gets them all in trouble. Whatever’s happened to the mirror, it isn’t worth bringing down the lady’s wrath upon them. Not when they’ve made such a fortunate escape with Maurice’s return.

_For he that fights and runs away,_

_May live to fight another day_

Pick your battles, her father used to tell her, know when to stand your ground and when to let things go. And there will always be another battle to fight with the Baroness.

****

The thing about beekeeping is it requires a lot of learning, hard work, and all of your concentration. Gentle, calm movements that are slow and steady, and composure in the face of swarming bugs that aren’t exactly pleased to find you disturbing their home.

It’s not a job that Rey ever anticipated having.

The hives had been started by Satine when she’d first married Ben, a hobby she’d loved ever since she was a young girl and had planned to pass on to her own children. After she’d passed away Ben couldn’t bear to let them go, and so he’d taken over their care – dragging Rey along with him and teaching her everything his beloved wife had taught him. It was the one activity with her father that Rey never wanted to do.

The bees had terrified her and the hats with their special netting to protect the face were unnerving – like something out of one of Finn’s scary stories – and the little fires her father would start so that the smoke would placate the bees and allow him to harvest the honeycomb made her fear for the safety of the manor. As far as eight year old Rey was concerned the honey smeared on her bread at breakfast was delicious, but she wanted no part in the work of producing it.

Now over a decade later, the memories make her laugh with a nostalgic ache inside her heart. She’s elbows deep in the ninth hive, the last one in the row of twenty year old colonies, expertly retrieving the extra pieces of honeycomb and putting them on the plate that Paulette is holding with outstretched arms – the older woman’s hands rattling almost imperceptibly.

(Unlike Rey, Paulette never could quite get over her fear of being stung.)

With all of the wildflowers blooming across the countryside, heralding in what’s sure to be a beautiful summer, the bees have been producing more than normal and Rey anticipates plenty of extra jars to see them through the winter.

“Talk about something,” Rey suggest quietly when a bee lands on Paulette’s thumb, walking across her knuckles as if exploring new territory and making Paulette audibly suck in a deep breath, “It’ll help keep you calm.”

The hives are always the most tranquil in the early morning, which is why Rey had dragged Paulette outside so early, but just because she believes the little creatures are simply greeting them with a lazy _good morning_ doesn't mean Paulette feels the same way, as evident by the grim set of her mouth. 

“I am calm,” She retorts, but her voice cracks on the last word, breaking it into two syllables, and Rey shakes her head.

“Anything, Paulette. The first thing that comes into your head.”

She stubbornly keeps her mouth shut for another thirty seconds, but then another bee lands on her wrist and she blurts out, “That was quite the adventure you had yesterday. I would have given anything to see you all dressed up like a courtier. Speaking to the prince like a lady!”

“Scolding him is more like it.” Rey laughs. “I cannot believe I gave him a fake name.”

“That was probably for the best. It wouldn’t do to have him showing up here looking for a countess. Although I'm sure Louise would appreciate the opportunity to thank him herself.”

Rey puts the last piece of honeycomb on the plate and closes the lid over the hive, turning to face Paulette – taking the plate out of her hands and gesturing for her to begin walking towards the manor. “I don’t want him showing up here at all. The man is insufferable. It’s obvious he’s never thought outside the box that is his own castle.”

She's incredibly grateful for the prince's role in yesterday's rescue, and she will readily acknowledge that she owes him a great debt, but that doesn't mean she has to agree with his politics. She'd laid awake half the night replaying their conversation in her mind over and over and over, thinking of more things she'd wished she'd said and dreaming up scenarios in which they might continue their discussion. His responses might have been disappointing, but they were still different. _New_. And no one's ever discussed Thomas More with her before. 

“Yes,” Paulette snorts, and Rey can practically hear her eyes rolling, “You’ve been saying that all morning. Pity though” She sighs longingly, “I would like to get a good look at him. I’ve heard he’s _very_ handsome. Did you think so?” 

Rey isn’t going to dignify that question with a response. What does it matter how a person looks if they aren’t good on the inside? Even if he does have the most beautiful curly dark hair she’s ever seen (honestly, she didn’t know a man could even have such hair), that doesn’t change his personality so it’s not worth mentioning.

“Well it’s as true now as it was this morning,” She repeats forcefully, “He _is_ very narrow-minded.”

“He’s royalty!” Paulette scoffs with a wave of her hand. “They’re born like that.”

Rey laughs, thinking of all the other insufferable people she knows and the one thing they have in common. “Well then I suppose the penalty for being wealthy is that you have to live with the rich.”

Paulette hums in agreement, but it’s a dreamy sort of sound rather than the scathing commentary Rey was expecting. “I’ll be he’s quite charming, too, once you get to know him.”

Charming. _Charming_. She's certain he thinks so, with that roguish smile of his, but she can't say that was her experience. 

“Honestly, I think he and Paige deserve each other,” Rey teases, looking at Paulette out of the corner of her eye and grinning when that garners the reaction she was hoping for.

Paulette immediately drops her far-off expression, trading her smile for a frown and playfully swatting Rey’s elbow. “Oh! Bite your tongue! The only throne I want her sitting on is the one I have to clean every day.”

Rey laughs again, throwing her head back and holding her hand to her stomach – careful not to drop any of the precious honey. It doesn’t take long for Paulette to join in, and soon the two of them are left giggling uncontrollably at the edge of the garden. The idea of _Paige_ becoming queen will never stop being ridiculous.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Paulette’s laughter is cut short, a genuine scowl appearing in its place, and Rey follows her gaze to find a dark-haired man dressed all in black dismounting from the back of a pitch-black stallion.

A man whose very presence sends shivers up her spine.

“It can’t be anything good,” Rey mutters, “Look - he’s brought his bodyguards with him.”

She flicks her head towards the seven other men on horseback. Each of them wearing a cool mask of indifference as they closely observe every inch of the landscape. It can’t be comfortable to dress in such dark, heavy clothes all the time, especially as the weather gets warmer, yet Rey has never seen them in anything different. Always in black. Always riding on the heels of their master.

The Knights of Ren.

“That man casts a pall wherever he goes.” Paulette crosses herself, looking to the sky as if seeking added protection from the divine, and Rey does the same.

There’s something… _dark_ about the Sir Kylo that goes deeper than his wardrobe or hair color. And more than once there’s been instances where he’s looked at her in a way that sends her skin crawling. But that doesn’t stop her from handing the plate of honeycombs back to Paulette and inching forward, staying hidden behind the bushes and crouching down behind the stone fence until she’s close enough to hear anything that might be said.

It doesn’t take long for him to reemerge, his cloak billowing behind him as he sweeps through the front door and marches back to his horse. The Baroness following after him, smiling and simpering and looking distinctly pleased with herself.

“So we have an agreement, then?” She asks, absently patting the stallion’s neck as she cranes her head to look up at Sir Kylo, and he jerks his chin almost imperceptibly.

“Inasmuch as I continue to see a benefit for myself, yes.”

“Excellent,” The Baroness smiles, “Excellent.”

He turns to go, pausing for a half a second to do his own perusal of the yard, and Rey ducks her head even lower behind the rocks. She could swear for the briefest moment that his eyes had landed on her, and her heart stops while she waits for him to do something – biting the inside of her cheek and digging her feet into the ground, preparing to run if need be - but then his gaze moves on and he gives the command for his men to ride out, and she breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

“What do you think that was all about then?” Paulette whispers, coming out from her own hiding spot behind the tree and holding out her hand to help Rey stand back up.

“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramadan Mubarak to all who might be celebrating <3


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and the king find a compromise, and Poe has another run in with the mysterious Countess de Kryze.

****

“So who talks first – I talk first or you talk first?” Poe sits across the desk from his father, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and waiting for the reprimand he’s sure is forthcoming. Honestly, he’s surprised his father didn’t start talking the second he walked into the room.

When Leia said he wanted a word, Poe had assumed that meant he really wanted _several_ words. Words like _how dare you run away again_ and _why do you have to be so stubborn?_ He didn’t expect to spend the first ten minutes picking at the ornate engravings in the arms of the wooden chair he’s sitting on trying not to sweat while Kes just stares at him – his fingers folded together and pressed to his chin.

The silent disappointment is worse than yelling would have been.

“Do you want me to talk first?” Kes finally says, lowering his hands to his stomach and sighing, and Poe has the jarring realization that his father’s beard, once as dark as molasses, is now almost entirely silver.

Somehow the change had been so gradual, he didn’t really notice, but now that it’s highlighted by the sharp light of the afternoon streaming in through the tall windows he can’t help but see every little detail. The dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the more pronounced slump in his shoulders. 

_When did he get old?_

“You gave me no choice.” Poe leans back again, digging into one of the swirling motifs in the wood with the nail of his index finger and trying to stem the flow of guilt that he feels knowing he may have unwittingly contributed to his father’s stress.

“No choice,” Kes repeats slowly, his voice hardening, gearing up for an argument.

“Yes,” Poe insists, sitting up straighter, “I heard you telling Leia you were going to force me into marriage, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So, you thought rather than staying and talking to me about it, you’d just jump out of the window? Risking your life not just in the escape, but by disappearing into the countryside without any form of protection?!” He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head, and Poe feels his body flush with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

“I didn’t jump – I climbed. I knew what I was doing. And I can protect myself!” Restless and agitated, Poe stands up and begins pacing in front of the desk. Sure, he may have forgotten to take a weapon with him, but hadn’t he proved himself more than capable when he’d helped save Luke from that band of thieves? That must count for something.

Not to be intimidated, Kes stands up as well, his thick eyebrows pinching together as he frowns. “You are the crown prince, mijo! Do you know what would happen to the country if you were to die or be taken as a hostage? You have a duty to your people, Poe!”

“What about my duty to myself?” Poe shoots back, waving his arm out to the side.

“There is a bigger picture here that you _must_ learn to consider! Do you want the country to dissolve into anarchy and chaos and bloodshed? Because that is what would happen should you die or disappear before leaving an heir. The line of succession after you is messy – there are plenty of distant cousins willing to fight for their chance at power. I will _not_ risk civil war!” Kes slams his fist against the desk, sending a few papers flying and making the jar of ink rattle.

The noise must have been loud enough to be heard in the next room, because Leia rushes in from her own office through the connecting door looking concerned. “What in god’s name is going on in here?”

There’s ink smudged on her right hand, a quill still dangling from her fingers, and Poe instantly feels abashed. Leia’s been working hard on a new initiative to bring aid to smaller communities near their borders who were hit hard by the winter, spending long hours in meetings and writing letters to various noblemen to garner support, and he hadn’t meant to disturb her.

“Kes, sit down before you have a stroke. You too, Poe,” She commands, her tone leaving no room for argument, and he immediately drops back into his seat, “Really, the two of you. I’m sure you were heard all the way to the seaside!” She turns to face him, and Poe has the good sense to look contrite. “Sweetheart, you were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations.”

“I understand that,” He replies, making a point of lowering his voice and speaking slower, “But I don’t see why that should mean roping me into a marriage that neither I nor Princess Bliss want.”

“Poe,” Kes sighs again, sinking back into his chair and running a hand across his short-cropped hair, “I know you dislike change, but I am not as young as I once was. Thanks to the war your mother and I were not blessed to be married as early as we would have hoped, and as such we had you later in life than most. There will come a day when I –“

“Don’t talk like that,” Poe cuts in with a sharp glare, “You’re in your sixties, there’s still plenty of years left.” The idea that his father might die someday is unbearable. Even the allusion that it might be sooner rather than later is unthinkable. 

“ – When I will no longer be here,” He continues as if he wasn’t interrupted, “And I would like to see you comfortably settled and with an heir or two of your own before then so that I can rest easy knowing the country is safe in the hands of my son.”

“So you’re saying there’s nothing I can do.”

“I’m saying it’s time for you to grow up and accept that this is your future.”

With a grim nod Poe jerks out of his chair and walks away, ignoring the loud crash behind him as it falls to the floor and the two pairs of eyes he can feel following him out of the room.

Leia finds him hours later.

He’d escaped to the gardens, whether to think or avoid thinking, he still isn’t sure. Wandering through the mazes and flower beds and topiaries that stretch to twice his height. His grandfather used to bring him out here when he was a boy, chasing him up and down the rows of plants, playing tag and hide and seek and teaching him chess (Poe never won, his grandfather was too much of an expert). They were some of the happiest days of his life. Back when he didn’t have to study history and politics with his tutors or sit in on important council meetings with his father or take horseback riding lessons with his mother (okay, those he actually enjoyed, but they were still _lessons_ ). Days when he didn’t have to think about being a prince at all. He could just be _Poe_.

It’s that feeling that brought him out here again. Wishing life was still that simple and longing for his grandfather’s advice. He knows he’d be on his side. As Shara Bey’s father, he’d never known the pressures of growing up royal, and he’d been the only one who had both understood and encouraged Poe’s quest to feel like a normal child.

He’d give anything to hear his voice now.

“Here you are.” Leia walks towards him as graceful as ever. Looking regal in her grey dress, even without her crown. The muted colors of twilight suit her, and Poe manages to offer her a small smile as a greeting. He never could stay angry at her for very long, and it isn’t her fault that any of this is happening. “Kes was getting ready to send out the cavalry this time.” She catches his expression and laughs. “That was a joke.”

“Ha-ha.” Poe rolls his eyes, continuing his walk down the path but slowing his pace enough for Leia to catch up to him.

“Seriously though, you’re not planning on running away again, are you? Because your father has a very important council meeting tomorrow morning regarding seed supplies in the low country.”

“No,” Poe lays a hand on her arm, “I won’t run away again.”

Clearly that course of action is no longer available to him. Not if it’s prematurely aging his father. And it’s not like it was particularly successful, anyway. Zero out of ten attempts doesn’t exactly give the eleventh escape great odds.

“That’s good. There are things that you cannot solve by climbing out of your tower and riding off on your horse. I need you to learn that.” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, stern, but full of understanding, and Poe sighs.

“I know. I just… so much of my life was decided for me at birth. Every choice made without my input. I guess I just hoped that my choice of wife would be one of the few decisions I made for myself.”

“I understand that, Poe, I do. And in my heart I agree with you, and I know Kes does too, but he’s afraid.” Leia takes his hand, forcing him to stop walking and look at her. “He doesn’t want to worry you, but he’s been having these headaches lately and I think it has him scared about the future.”

“Headaches?" Poe blanches, his body running hot and then cold all over. "Has he seen the physician? What’s being done?”

“He has and it’s being taken care of,” Leia gently calms him, “But I think it would take a lot of stress off his shoulders if he knew you were more settled. You have been very restless lately. More than usual.” She laughs softly, and Poe swallows his fear back down. 

“I just…” He hesitates, walking over to one of the stone benches and propping his foot up on it, resting on his knee. “I feel stuck, Leia. Stagnant. Like I have no purpose other than being pushed and prodded in whatever direction suits the people around me.”

“Maybe a wife would help with that. She might help you find something to fight for.”

A face pops into his mind at the words _something to fight for,_ and Poe murmurs her name.

“Who?” Leia cocks her head and Poe turns to her, speaking more clearly.

“Countess Kira de Kryze. She’s a cousin of… actually I don’t know who her cousin is. Surely you have heard of her.”

“There are simply too many courtiers to remember them all by name. Why do you ask?”

There's something a little too calculating in her expression, a little _too_ interested, and it has Poe fidgeting where he stands. “Hm? Oh, uh, nevermind.”

“Poe!” His father’s sudden appearance makes him jump in surprise, but thankfully he doesn’t sound angry. In fact, he sounds happier than he has in days. “I think I’ve thought up a solution. In honor of Master Skywalker, I have decided to throw a ball. A masked ball. At which point you and I will strike a compromise.”

“Compromise?” Poe asks warily. 

“If love is what you seek, then I suggest you find it before then. For five days hence, at the stroke of midnight, you will announce your engagement to the girl of your choice, _or_ I will announce it for you to Princess Bliss. Are we agreed?” Kes holds out his hand and Poe tentatively shakes it. 

“What of your treaty?”

“Let me handle that," Kes chuckles, waving off his concern, "You’ve got bigger problems.”

He holds out his arm to Leia and she slips her hand through it with practiced ease, allowing Kes to lead her back to the castle. Stopping only to say, “Choose wisely, Poe.”

_Choose wisely_. He doesn't even know where to begin. 

****

“I hate this,” Poe mutters, accepting a cup of water from one of the servant boys and tossing back half of it in a single swallow, “I hate that people dress up in their finest clothes just to watch us play sports. Can’t they find anything better to do?”

He hands the cup back to the boy, thanking him, and picks up his rapier, testing the weight of it in his hand and making sure he gets his grip just right. Across from him Snap stands relaxed, lazily swinging his own sword around while waiting for the whistle telling them to resume their match. They'd agreed to an early morning friendly fencing practice only to arrive and find the wooden benches on either end of the large room already full with courtiers and noblemen eager to watch the prince duel his friend, and Poe feels smothered by their presence. 

This was supposed to be _fun._

“Says the man who dragged me halfway across the country to watch a jousting tournament," Snap shoots back, pulling his favorite dagger out of his belt to hold in his other hand for extra defense. 

Poe rolls his eyes, forgoing the use of his own dagger. “That was different. Sir Muran was competing in that tournament and he’s one of the best knights in all the realm. We had to go.”

“I’m just saying. Perhaps all these people view you with the same level of entertainment.” Snap wiggles his eyebrows and moves into the starting position. 

“How flattering,” Poe deadpans. “At least when you and I went to that tournament we stayed incognito. These people flock to us like peacocks.”

“I think you mean these _young ladies_ ,” Snap smirks, glancing over Poe's shoulder to where he knows at least a dozen women have congregated, “And we both know why they’re here and it isn’t because of your skills with a blade.”

“Well they’re wasting their time.” Poe moves into the starting position as well, standing a few feet away from his friend, and the whistle blows. 

They're both leisurely with their strikes this morning. Each of them using simple attacks that are easy for the other to block. It isn't a real duel, after all, and although Poe normally likes to dive head first into these things, today he's grateful for the opportunity to talk without risk of being overheard. 

“When is the king planning on officially announcing your engagement, anyway?" Snap asks, bringing his sword down in a slashing motion that Poe immediately parries. "The whole kingdom’s heard the rumors by now.”

“Actually, there’s been a change of plans.”

Their swords clash a few times, the sharp steel ringing out with each hit, and Poe groans under his breath when he hears a few ladies gasp and cry out in shock. He's not even in any danger. 

“You’re kidding." Snap wheezes, and Poe gives him a second to catch his breath. "Did your little disappearing act actually work? I still have rope burn, by the way.” He holds out his wrists for inspection, but there's nothing there, and Poe laughs and rolls his eyes. 

“Not exactly. But we talked last night, and he’s decided to give me until the masked ball to find a wife on my own. If I don’t then that’s when he’ll announce the engagement to Princess Bliss.”

“Wow. Four days, huh?” Snap lifts his sword again and Poe resumes his attack. “That’s not much time. You’ll have to act fast. What about her?”

He jerks his chin towards the spectators again and Poe follows his gaze to find Paige Tico standing front and center in an elaborate red and black beaded gown with lips dyed crimson to match. The second she notices his attention she deliberately scans his body from head to toe, dragging her eyes over him like he’s a piece of meat, and then smirks.

Now, Poe isn’t one to shrivel under the gaze of a pretty girl. He knows he’s attractive and he’s done his fair share of flirting. But the way Paige does it makes him feel less like an equal partner in a harmless flirtation and more like an object for her to possess. She doesn’t care about him, only what he can offer he as the crown prince, and if he didn’t already dislike her that certainly would be enough to turn him off for good.

“Uh, no,” He chuckles, “I think it’s safe to say there’s nothing of any interest for me in the Tico household. I’ll have to look a bit farther than that.”

“Well good luck. You’ve already met every young lady there is befitting your station and none of them caught your eye before.”

“Then I’ll just have to look again.” Poe claps him on the shoulder, then jokingly shoves him away - bringing his blade up to clash with Snap's. “The right woman is out there somewhere, Snap. I’ll find her.” 

“I like your confidence." Snap grunts, parrying another blow. "I don’t think it’s realistic, but I like it all the same.”

Poe steps in closer, grabbing Snap's sword hand and forcing his arm to point towards the ground - the two of them wrestling for control. “Well we can’t all meet our soulmates during a party down at Castle D’Qar, can we?”

Snap practically jumps backwards, bringing his sword up and holding it in front of his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even remember that party. It was over a year ago.”

“If you don’t remember it, how do you know when it was?” Poe grins, thrusting his rapier forward and nearly poking Snap in the stomach. “How is Karé, anyway?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Snap sticks up his nose, and Poe uses the opportunity to lunge at him, tearing a nice long rip in his sleeve but staying purposely away from any skin. 

“Jess told me last month when you said you had business to attend to regarding one of your shipping boats you were actually at the Kun family estate. When are you going to propose and make an honest woman of her?”

“I – She – Jess –“ Snap sputters and Poe laughs, tipping his head back while his friend grows redder and redder until he finally scowls. “Jess never could keep a secret from you. I don’t know what I expected.”

“Just admit you’re in love with Karé and propose. My father will give his permission for the union and you know it, so that’s not an issue. You could be married within a month if you wanted.”

“You _will_ be married within a month whether you want it or not,” Snap shoots back, and Poe purposely swats his side with the sword, making Snap jump out of the way.

“Don’t change the subject. Are you in love with the beautiful Lady Kun or not?”

“I don’t –“

“Are you?”

“I’m not –“

With each deflection Poe brings his sword down harder, meeting each of Snap's moves with a lunge or riposte of his own until he's heaving with the effort and panting for breath. In one single dizzying move Poe swirls his sword around Snap's until the handle is knocked out of his hand and the blade goes clattering across the stone floor. 

Behind him he can hear the spectator's clapping, but Poe doesn't care about that. “What’s the answer, Snap?”

“Damn it, Poe! Fine!" Snap grunts, annoyed, and Poe can sense a rematch will be shortly forthcoming. "Yes, I am! I love her blonde hair and her dark brown eyes and the way she makes me laugh and how smart she is, and I want to marry her damn it!”

“Then propose." He suggests cheerfully, retrieving Snap's fallen weapon and handing it back to him. "At least one of us should be happy.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes,” Snap snorts, shaking his head, and Poe shrugs. 

“Yeah, but at least I’m a helpful pain in the ass.”

“I take back what I said. I hope you _do_ find the right woman, and when you do I hope she knocks that ego down a few pegs.”

****

Poe looks up at the gathering clouds overhead and tugs his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. It’s still warm, and there’s enough sunlight peeking through to keep the breeze on this side of balmy, but if he had to guess he’d say it looks like rain later.

When Luke had found him after his fencing match with Snap and asked if he wanted to help him test one of his new inventions, he’d jumped at the chance. Any opportunity to leave the castle grounds and escape the hoards of young women trying to catch his attention. He has no idea how the news spread so quickly that he might still be available, but it seems as if every courtier in the land suddenly knows. Everywhere he went this morning, from the library to the gardens, there seemed to be some young lady there eager to catch his eye. He'd almost resorted to hiding in a suit of armor just for a moment of peace. 

Not that they all aren't good, kind ladies who are very sweet and polite, because they are. And he's sure they'll make other men very happy someday. Just not him. He's not sure what he's looking for yet, but he does know he hasn't found it. 

He picks up a few flat rocks and starts tossing them across the river, watching as they skip a few times before sinking beneath the surface. If only finding a wife were as easy as finding the perfect skipping stone. How are you supposed to know that someone is the perfect fit for you, not just now, but fifty years from now? And not just for him, but a good fit for his country as the future queen, as well?

“Do you think there is only one perfect mate?” He skips another rock while waiting for Luke’s reply, expecting him to say no. After all, he’s a man of science, and the scientific method seems utterly incongruous with the idea of fate and destiny and soulmates.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Luke’s confident answer stops him in his tracks, and Poe spins around to face him – his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Well then how can you be certain to find them? And if you do find them, are they really the one for you, or do you only think they are? And what happens if the person you’re supposed to be with never appears or she does, but you’re too distracted to notice?” The questions tumble out of him, one after the other, and Luke chuckles and shrugs his shoulders.

“You learn to pay attention.”

Once the floodgates have opened Poe can’t stop the rest of his thoughts from bursting free. His mind has been spinning ever since his conversation with his father the night before, and he can’t make head nor tails of any of it. He could really use an expert opinion. “Then let’s say God puts two people on earth and they are lucky enough to find one another, but one of them gets hit by lightning. Well then what? Is that it? Or by chance you meet someone new and marry all over again is that the lady you’re supposed to be with or was it the first? And if so if the two of them were walking side by side, were they both the one for you and you just happened to meet the first one first or was the second one supposed to be first? And is everything just chance or are some things meant to be?”

"You sound like you've been doing a lot of thinking about this. Maybe marriage isn't the dismal prospect you thought it was." Luke chuckles and Poe sighs, gathering a few more rocks to throw. 

"Marriage isn't the problem, per se." 

“Then why did you run away the other day?”

“I've been told it’s because I have no impulse control.”

Luke laughs again and Poe reluctantly joins in. "I was the same way when I was your age. Always itching to get out and see new things, never content to stay in one place. Leia was always better at obeying orders, well," He chuckles fondly, " _Pretending_ to obey orders, at least. I think that's why she was so put off by Han at first. He never even bothered to pretend." 

"It's hard to imagine Leia falling in love with someone with such a reputation for being extremely reckless." 

"Perhaps," Luke sits down on the back of the wagon, stroking his grey beard, "He liked to think he was a scoundrel, but he wasn't really - not deep down. He was a good husband, and a good friend." Luke's voice drops and Poe looks back to find him already on his feet again, continuing with whatever it was he was working on in the wagon before loudly clearing his throat. "And perhaps there's a spark of rebellion in every Skywalker that, try as we might, can't be put out." 

"Do you think they were soulmates?" 

"Han would deny it if asked, but," Luke pauses, thinking it over, then nods to himself, "Yes, I think they were." 

"So you think fate brought them together?" Poe's not sure if he thinks that's sweet, or worrying. Ultimately their story ended in heartbreak - if their union was meant to be, does that mean their separation was as well? But rather than responding seriously, Luke laughs again.

"I brought them together! Those two fought like cats and dogs until they got into a scrape they couldn't argue their way out of and I had to rescue them. You can't leave everything to fate, boy, she has a lot to do. Sometimes you must give her a hand.” Luke pats him on the shoulder, offering him a sympathetic smile, before picking up two large wooden boat-shaped things and walking towards the water.

It’s not the most satisfactory answer, but then, Poe’s come to learn in the last twenty-four hours that there’s no use pressuring Luke to do or say what you want. He’s observed enough of his conversations with Leia to pick up on that. The man is a law unto himself. 

“What’s this project?” Poe asks, following him to the water’s edge and setting aside any thoughts of wives or soulmates for the time being.

“You care to see if they work?”

With some difficulty Poe manages to help Luke strap both boat shoes to his feet and shuffle into the water.

At first Luke just stands there, testing out the fit and balance, but the awkwardly shaped shoes quickly start to sink and so without hesitation he begins marching forward – hiking his knees up high each time to lift his heavy feet and beginning to walk upstream across the river.

It’s amazing to witness innovation in action and Poe starts cheering, pumping his fist in the air and grinning from ear to ear, when suddenly he spots something bobbing in the water up ahead.

There’s a split-second where he tries to guess what might be floating in the river (there aren’t any large predators here, and a fish wouldn’t behave that way) before a woman’s loud, blood-curdling scream rings out – sending Luke’s arm’s flailing before he topples backwards into the water with a mighty splash.

Poe takes off running up the riverbank, debating whether or not he should dive in and swim to Luke’s rescue, when Luke’s head pops back up out of the water with a laugh. There’s someone next to him, and the two of them grab his boat shoes before they can float away and start making their way slowly towards dry land.

“Master Skywalker, are you alright?” Poe calls out once they’re a few yards away. He can see that the lady is struggling, both hands clutching the heavy shoe and her head tilted down low so that she can watch where she’s going, and so he walks into the water a few feet to the meet them.

“I should leave walking on water to the Son of God,” Luke grumbles, although he doesn’t look too angry, and gestures to the woman at his side, “Fortunately, I tripped over an angel.”

She looks up at the compliment and smiles at Luke, and Poe almost trips over his own feet in surprise. “Countess!”

“Your Highness!” Her mouth drops comically open and she stumbles, nearly falling onto her knees before catching herself – her cheeks flushing red. “Oh, uh, careful. It’s very slippery right there.”

She’s soaking wet, her long brown hair plastered to her head in wild tangles, but her eyes are no less bright than they were yesterday, her smile no less enchanting. And Poe finds himself grinning like an idiot at this chance meeting – _here_ of all places. That is, until he takes in the rest of her appearance.

Apparently when she’d decided to go for a swim, she’d discarded her dress, because she’s only wearing her white long-sleeved linen smock and underskirts, and white fabric and water don’t exactly make for -

She shifts awkwardly, her blush extending down her neck and chest when she seems to follow his gaze, folding one of her arms over herself and nearly dropping the shoe, and that shakes Poe from his inappropriate (although not altogether _regretted)_ staring.

“Here, please, allow me.” He unclasps his cloak from around his neck and drapes it over her shoulders before taking the shoe out of her hands, and she gratefully curls herself into the heavy fabric, wrapping it around herself like a cocoon.

“Oh, thank you.”

“What are you doing out here?” He asks a little too eagerly as they follow Luke to the shore, resolutely ignoring the pointed look Luke gives him when he takes the boat shoe out of his hand and walks away to return both of them to the wagon they’d driven out here.

“I –“ A gust of wind picks up and she shivers, her whole body shuddering violently, and Poe quickly guides her to a spot in the sun, pulling the cloak higher up on her shoulders and tucking it in more securely. Her hazel eyes grow wide, as if she’s surprised by his concern, and she shuffles awkwardly before continuing, “I just needed to escape for a little while.”

_I know the feeling_ , Poe smiles privately to himself and gestures for her to sit down on a nearby boulder. There’s room enough for two and so he happily sits down next to her, enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against the side of his probably more than he should.

She’s a stranger. A woman who has made no secret of her dislike for him and refused to tell him anything about herself. And yet he’s in no hurry to be rid of her company. Not only does she argue passionately, read Thomas More, and staunchly defend the rights of the lower classes, she _swims alone_ as well. Everything about her is unexpected. 

“Where are your attendants?”

“I… decided to give them a day off.” She shrugs, trying to brush some of her wild hair out of her face and failing when the velvet fabric of his cloak clutched in her hand only serves to make it worse.

Without thinking, Poe reaches up and gently brushes the strands back behind her ear. “A day off? From what – life?”

She blinks at him, staying silent, and Poe has the decency to feel embarrassed by the extreme liberty he’d just taken. He’s never behaved so informally with a lady, and truly he hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but something about her makes him forget all his years of etiquette training.

Hopefully his old tutor, Madame Holdo, never hears a word of this. That woman legitimately scares him.

“Don’t you ever tire of having people wait on you all the time?” She finally asks, rolling her head to look at him. When she squints into the sun like that, it makes the freckles on the tip of her nose stand out more, and Poe smiles back at her.

“Yeah, but they’re servants. It's their job.”

Her face falls, and once again Poe’s left feeling like he’s said exactly the thing she _didn’t_ want to hear. It’s not that he doesn’t agree with her – of course he wishes he could be left alone! He’s the prince, the only times he’s alone are when he’s sleeping or relieving himself. If he could give all his attendants a day off, he absolutely would. But that’s just not how it works. 

“I wish I could dismiss caring about mine as easily as you do yours.” She takes off his cloak and stands up, leaving it in a pile at his side, apparently no longer as concerned with modesty as she is with getting away from him. “I must be going.”

He jumps up and moves to follow her, in no hurry for their conversation to end. “You’re angry with me.”

“No.” He can see the muscle in her jaw working from where he’s standing, as if she’s trying to keep her cool, and he can’t resist teasing her.

Putting both hands on his hips, he widens his stance. “Admit it. Admit that you’re angry with me.”

“You’re the prince,” She mutters through gritted teeth, visibly taking a deep breath, “I’m not supposed to be angry with you.”

“But you are.” He leans forward slightly. “Admit it.”

“Well yes!” She spins around, throwing her hands out to the side in exasperation, “If you must know.”

“Why?” There’s laughter in his voice now, but he keeps it contained. He’s far more delighted by the blaze in her eyes than he should be, but he can’t help it. She’s so _alive_ , and it makes him feel alive, too.

“Because you are trying to bait me with your snobbery!” She places both of her hands on her hips as well, mirroring his stance, and Poe shakes his head.

“I’m afraid you, Countess, are a walking contradiction and I find that rather fascinating.”

“Me?” That seems to throw her, and her eyebrows scrunch together adorably as she frowns at him. “Fascinating?”

“Yes, you. You spout the ideals of a Utopian society, yet you live the life of a courtier!”

“And you own all the land there is and yet you take no pride in working it! Is that not also a contradiction?” She retorts heatedly, every bit as animated as he is.

“First, I am arrogant and now I have no pride,” Poe laughs, “However do I manage that?”

She grits her teeth again, exhaling through her nose, and Poe half expects her to stomp her foot before she glares at him. “Do you know what you are, Prince Dameron?”

“It’s Poe,” He interjects. He’d much rather they not have to use titles between them, especially since their conversation crossed outside the bounds of formal long ago, but she plows on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“You are a difficult man!”

“Oh, _I’m_ difficult?” He points to himself before gesturing towards her. “What about you?”

“I’m not the difficult one! I’m _right_! You have everything and still the world holds no joy, and yet you insist on making fun of those who would see it for its possibilities.”

_Phew_. Poe runs a hand through his hair, chuckling low under his breath. He’s never met someone who burns so brightly with the strength of their own convictions. She is fire personified, and yet he finds himself wantingto be burned. “How do you do it?”

“What?” She’s still breathing heavily, but deeper now as if trying to calm herself down, and Poe quickly catches himself before his eyes drop to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Her garments have dried enough now that they’re no longer sheer, but it’s still wildly inappropriate for him to even _notice_ such a thing, let alone look.

“Live each day with this kind of passion? Don’t you find it exhausting?”

“Only when I am around you.” Her muscles relax further, and she folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head to the side. “Why do you like to irritate me so?”

“Why do you rise to the occasion?” He shoots back, offering her a teasing smile.

She presses her lips together, trying to maintain her stern look, but matching dimples soon appear on both of her cheeks and her eyes begin to sparkle, and it doesn’t take long before she’s laughing. Full-bodied and unconstrained.

It’s the best sound in the world.

Poe joins in and the two of them stand there laughing and grinning at each other long enough that he’s certain Luke must think they’ve completely lost their minds. He steps closer, his laugh softening into something deeper, and tucks another strand of hair behind her ear, blown loose by the wind.

The blush returns, but her smile doesn’t fade, and he’s almost tempted to -

"I didn't thank you properly yesterday." She says quietly, interrupting his impulsive thoughts. "For helping me free Maurice. He's been with my family my whole life. You don't know what it means to me to have him back home." 

"Oh, uh," He shrugs one shoulder, running his hand through his hair again. Her eyes follow the motion, and he wonders what she thinks of it - if she likes his hair or if she agrees with his father that he's let it grow too long. "You're welcome. Anytime you need help, you can come to me." 

The corner of her mouth crooks up, but she gives him a funny look. Like she's not sure if he's being serious with his offer (he's never been more serious in his life), but before he can reassure her another woman’s voice calls out in the distance, and while Poe can’t make out what was said it seems to trigger something in Kira, because she jerks away from him – lifting her skirts and taking off in the direction of the voice. “Uh… forgive me, highness, I’ve lost track of the hour.”

“But the wind!” Luke shouts after her, “It’s perfect!” He holds up some other contraption he’s designed, this one made of thin paper-like material and tied to a string, and Kira stops running long enough to give him a small curtsy and apologize.

“I am sorry! I must go!”

She disappears into the trees, leaving Poe utterly baffled by the sudden turn of events. “Why does she keep doing that?” 

“The first thing you should learn about women, Poe, is that they’ll never stop surprising you." Luke takes his hand and presses the handle of this new device into his palm. "Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll be seeing the young countess again.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Market Day has Rey bursting with excitement, but brings more surprises than she was anticipating. And the prince finally finds out where the mysterious Countess de Kryze is staying.

****

The first Market Day of the summer always fills Rey with a rush of nervous anticipation, turning what would be just another Sunday into a day of excitement and hope. Not only does it have the practical effect of bolstering their coffers after the winter – usually depleted due to the Baroness’s unending stream of lavish purchases – but it provides her with the opportunity to go into town and see her neighbors. Most of whom are far too busy with their own farms to get together during the week.

(House calls are a luxury reserved for the rich.)

“Inventory check.” Maurice hefts another box of vegetables onto the back of the cart before taking Rey’s box of fruit from her – winking when he catches her sneaking one of the strawberries and popping it into her mouth. “What do we have loaded and what’s left to get?”

“Rhubarb, peppers, radishes, peas, apricots, cherries, peaches, strawberries, and we have a bag of potatoes in the barn.” Rey counts off each item on her fingers, closing her eyes and picturing the interior of the barn to make sure they haven’t accidentally left anything behind. It’s still early in the season, but they’ve had a good spring crop this year with encouraging signs that the following weeks will only get better.

“And don’t forget the honey for Cody.” Paulette walks up and sets the jar down carefully between the other baskets, wrapped up in a handkerchief that Rey suspects Louise embroidered last night.

“And the chickens.” Louise sets the crate down on the ground, two chickens squabbling inside and pecking at each other. Rey hates to see them be sold, but they have more than they need right now and they sell better than anything else.

“I’ll go get the potatoes and then we’ll be ready to go. That is, if Rey doesn’t sprint away without us before then.” Maurice gestures to her fingers drumming anxiously against the wooden cart with a laugh, and her cheeks flush.

She hadn’t meant to be quite so obvious. But she's on edge and if they don’t go soon the Baroness might imagine up some menial task or chore that needs doing and command her to stay behind.

The door to the manor opens behind them, and Rey winces and grits her teeth. She never should have tempted fate with such a thought.

“Oh good, you haven’t left.” The Baroness comes sweeping out of the house, followed by Paige and Rose. The three of them are already dressed in their Sunday finest, even though church isn’t for many hours yet. “I noticed the candlesticks were missing this morning, and the painting in the sitting room. Those shall have to come out of your pay.”

“My lady?” Paulette shares a worried glance with Louise, and Rey swallows the angry words threatening to burst out of her. None of them are thieves, and yet the Baroness seems determined to make them so. The ease with which she bandies about accusations as offensive as it is infuriating. She doesn't even bother to say anything else before moving onto her next topic.

“Someone fetch the carriage.” The Baroness waves her hand, turning her nose up when she sees the cart full of produce. ( _As if she’d ever ride anywhere in a cart_ , Rey thinks, feeling some satisfaction at the mental image of her stepmother taking Maurice’s place in the prisoner’s wagon.) “We’re coming into town with you. The king has sent an invitation for a masked ball in honor of Master Skywalker and the girls have absolutely nothing to wear.”

_Nothing but the thousands of yards of fabric already in their wardrobes._ Rey scoffs loudly, then quickly covers her mouth with her hand, turning the sound into a cough when the Baroness and Paige both turn in sync to stare at her with matching pursed lips and arched eyebrows. Their eyes raking over Rey’s own work dress with open mockery.

(Which isn’t quite fair. She’d washed it the day before and taken great care to brush her hair and wash her face that morning, so she knows she looks presentable.)

“We must have something new if we are to impress Prince Dameron,” Paige explains haughtily, sharing a smirk with her sister that Rose only remembers to return at the last second, “You should have seen the way he looked at me yesterday during his fencing match with Sir Wexley. Could hardly keep his eyes off me, in fact. Not that I minded, of course. They’re _very_ nice eyes.”

_His eyes_ , Rey resists the urge to roll her own. What could Paige possibly know about his eyes? Surely she’s never noticed their warmth, the way they fill with mischief when he’s teasing, or admired their dark, rich undertones.

Not that Rey has noticed or admired any of that, of course.

“I thought the prince was engaged to be married?” She asks, feigning nonchalance and picking at a sliver of wood sticking out of the side of the rickety cart. It’ll have to be traded for a newer one soon, if they can find the funds for it.

Rose finally brightens at the question, pleased to have something to contribute to the conversation. “Rumor has it the engagement’s been called off! He has until the ball to choose someone else. Isn’t that thrilling? I wonder if he already has a lady in mind, or if he believes in love at first sight and is waiting for that magic moment.”

Called off? He's not getting married?

“How did you learn that?” Rey wills her heart to stop racing, refusing to acknowledge any reaction to Rose’s statement past pure, innocent, uninterested curiosity. After all, what’s it to her who the prince marries?

“Oh sweet, simple Rey. A nobody like you wouldn’t understand, but one can learn anything if one is willing to…” The Baroness’s mouth crooks up at the corner, her eyes flashing with implications that make Rey acutely uncomfortable. “… Make the right connections…”

_Yuck._ She does not need or want to know what those connections are. She just prays that they’re legal and the Baroness isn’t caught up in some sort of conspiracy ring against the monarchy that will come back to hurt the manor.

"I hope he finds true love,” Rose murmurs softly to herself, “That would be so romantic.”

“Good god, Rose,” Paige groans, sagging against the side of the cart, “You sound so immature. Marriage has nothing to do with love.”

“It doesn’t?” Rose’s face falls, her expression downcast, and Rey wishes she were allowed to say something comforting right now without incurring more mockery from her jaded stepsister and stepmother. 

As a realist, she knows that marriage often isn’t based on love. Especially in the upper classes. Marriages among the nobility are strategic moves meant to advance either your livelihood or your position. But it still sounds cold and detached when Paige says it, and Rey likes to think – well, _hope_ – that it isn’t the case for everyone. It wasn’t for her father and mother.

“Of course it doesn’t, dear,” The Baroness tacks on, “You’d find it very hard to love someone if you were sleeping on dirt floors and begging for food for your ten children, wouldn’t you? Whereas a good hearth and home and steady income and close connections to the crown can only bring love and prosperity to all you know.”

“And I plan on having a _very_ close connection to the crown.” Paige plucks a peach out of the cart and takes a big bite, wiping the juices off her chin with what Rey can only describe as a lewd smile, and the toast she ate for breakfast churns in her stomach.

Thankfully the Baroness, Paige, and Rose ride in the carriage to town and disappear upon their arrival to shop in the fancier neighborhoods, leaving Rey and the others to set up their booth in the town square with the rest of the peasants.

“Auntie Rey, Auntie Rey!” The stampede of little feet is her only warning before she’s being brought down by a gaggle of children, and Rey drops to her knees with a laugh – wrapping her arms around as many of them as she can.

“Hello, my loves! My how you’ve all grown!” She leans back so that she can get a good look at them. They haven’t been able to see each other more than a handful of times since the harvest last fall, and they’ve all changed so much in the passing months.

“I lost a tooth!” Jesse grins proudly, pointing at the obvious gap in his teeth, “And I grew three inches!”

“Mama said it was only two,” His little sister, Kix, frowns up at him – blatantly standing on her tiptoes to try and lessen the gap even as her brother pushes on her shoulder to try and keep her down.

“How’s your reading coming along, Kix?” Rey asks, trying to distract the two kids from fighting while gathering up the infant that toddles into her arms and snuggling him in close.

“It’s good.” She smiles, sandy curls bobbing wildly as she bounces, “I know the whole alphabet now!”

“Thanks to the pages you made her.” A shadow descends upon them, and Rey looks up to find the source smiling softly down at her. “It’s been a huge help. Hello, Rey.”

“Uncle Cody!” She jumps up and throws her arms around the old man, closing her eyes and basking in the comfort of his arms around her. For one brief, fleeting moment, she can almost imagine they’re the arms of her father.

Cody had been one of her father’s best friends before he passed, they’d grown up together and served side by side as soldiers, and most of Rey’s favorite childhood memories are centered around summers spent on his farm with his family. Every time she sees him the distance between her current and past lives becomes a little bit smaller, the memories a little less hazy.

“How are you, child?” He steps back, placing both hands on her shoulders to get a good look at her, and then pretending to be shocked by what he finds. “What’s this? You’re not a child at all anymore, are you? You’ve become a lovely young woman. You’ll be nineteen in a few weeks now, won’t you?”

“That’s right.” She nods, pleased that he remembered.

“You’ll have to come up to the farm for supper. Bring Maurice, Louise, Paulette, and Finn – we’ll get the whole family together. Anahera will make you a feast! And maybe those fruit tarts I remember you liking so much.” The kids cheer, jumping around and nearly trampling Rey’s toes – drowning out her protests (she couldn’t possibly impose!) – and Cody smiles. “That is, if my rascally grandchildren don’t eat them all first. What do you say?”

Unable to resist the five pairs of big eyes blinking hopefully up at her, Rey pretends to sigh and gives in. “If you insist.”

The children cheer again and Cody claps his hands together, grinning from ear to ear. “Excellent. Well we’d better get back to our booth. Don’t forget to come say hi to Rex. He and his wife are expecting another baby.” He practically beams with pride at the mention of his son, but Rey has to press her lips between her teeth to keep from gaping at him in astonishment.

_Another_ child? So soon? Good grief. Perhaps the Baroness had a point when she said marriages based on love result in many mouths to feed.

"I'll have to make them another doll," She manages to say through her shock, remembering to smile, and Cody nods.

"I'm sure they'd love that. This little one still sleeps with hers every night." He bends down to the height of the toddler clinging to his leg and pats her on the head with so much affection that Rey feels a burst of jealousy, immediately followed by shame. 

“Don’t forget to get your jar of honey from Paulette,” She reminds him, shaking her head to clear it of any thoughts of love or marriage or children. She has quite enough to think about today, here and now, without wandering into daydreams or wondering what her life would be like if things had turned out differently. 

“I won’t!” Cody waves, gathering up the two youngest in his arms and leading his little flock of grandchildren back across the square, and Rey smiles after them.

By now it’s nearly nine o’clock and the market is bustling with local farmers and tradespeople setting up their booths – selling everything from produce to dairy products to bread – and Rey takes a moment to breathe it all in.

A few people notice her and wave, calling out greetings across the square, and Rey smiles and waves back to each one. Noting what’s changed and what hasn’t among them. Some have new wrinkles, others new babies, each one carrying a unique backstory, and she idly wonders what people see when they look at her. If she’s changed at all since last autumn or if she’s still the same Rey she’s always been.

Scrappy, freckled, and a bit too willing to hit someone with a pole if necessary. 

(Last summer a group of thugs had tried to raid their booth, and Rey had put a stop to it. She was proud of herself then, and still is today, but her actions didn't exactly earn her a reputation for being demure and ladylike.) 

“Ugh,” Paulette makes a noise of disgust, pulling Rey’s attention back to their own booth, “That man has a disturbing knack for showing up where he’s least wanted.”

There’s only one person that can engender that level of loathing in her, and Rey is unsurprised to follow her gaze and find Kylo Ren at the end of it. Walking through the market with his hands clasped behind his back, selecting items from the various stalls with cold condescension. His knights following closely behind.

“Maybe he won’t notice we’re here,” Rey mutters, deliberately turning her back towards him and getting to work sorting their produce, making sure everything is lined up neatly.

She’d painted signs on some extra scraps of wood and attached yarn to either end so that she could hang them above each item, and when she’s done assembling everything she steps back – admiring her handiwork. It’s not the fanciest display she’s ever seen, but it does look nice to see the words _fruit_ and _vegetable_ hanging where everyone in the town square can see them. Hopefully it will help drive up their business.

“Rey Kenobi,” A deep male voice speaks over her shoulder, close enough that she can feel his breath tickle the hair on her neck, and the pepper she was holding crunches loudly with the involuntary clench of her fist, “You get prettier every time I see you.”

“And you, Sir Ren, are wasting your flattery.” Rey steps around to the other side of the booth, putting a safe distance between them and trying to adopt the mannerisms of a disinterested shopkeeper.

_Breathe, Rey_ , she reminds herself, taking a moment to inhale deeply through her nose and exhale through her mouth. It’s never wise to show him any weakness.

She’s heard the rumors. The whispered stories and hushed gossip. About his dark past, his estrangement from his mother. About the women he takes to his manor – driven desperate by their situations - who never return the same as they were when they went in. Legends of the Chandrila Estate, once beautiful and lush and green, now renamed Exegol and allowed to become fallow and neglected while he scoops up as much property around the country as he can and forces laborers to work it for him. Accumulating wealth on the backs of hardworking peasants.

“It’s a pity your soil is the best in the province and yet so poorly tended.” He picks up one of the potatoes, turning it over and examining it for defects before deliberately frowning and setting it back down.

Sure, they might be a bit small, but it’s early in the season and Rey knows they’re still good, and in a burst of irrationality she feels offended on behalf of the little inanimate vegetables. He just can’t help but find things to critique, can he? It’s been this way ever since he started coming to the market. 

“We have limited resources, Sir, but we do the best we can.” Paulette comes up beside her and stands shoulder-to-shoulder, silently providing physical support, and Rey surreptitiously finds her hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

But she might as well not have said anything. There's no acknowledgement. No nod in her direction or even an attempt at a civil greeting. His eyes stay fixed on Rey – hardly blinking – making her feel like one of the butterflies pinned to the wall for reference at Master Phasma’s painting studio. “Anything I can do?”

“Perhaps you should bring it up with the Baroness, and stick to shopping.” Louise takes her place on Rey’s other side, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Never has she been more grateful for the love and protection of these two women. 

A streak of something dark flashes across his face, his eyebrows pulling together while he glowers at them, and Rey feels a cold chill run down her spine, even as she stands up a little straighter.

“I’d rather discuss it with Rey, if you don’t mind,” He says through gritted teeth, before fixing her with that same fervent stare, “My methods may be… unsavory to some, but I’m well-endowed,” He smirks, and she desperately tries not to react to the double-entendre the way she knows he wants her to, “As evident by my estate, of course. I’ve always had a soft spot for the less fortunate. You need a wealthy benefactor, and I need a young lady with spirit.”

The _nerve_! As if she would ever agree to take him on as a benefactor. She’s certain he does not intend to be a benevolent patron or a silent partner. No, if he’s offering to help it’s only because he has much darker terms in mind, and Rey has no interest in finding out what they are.

“Rhubarb?” She says instead, holding up the tray in front of her with a sardonic smile, and Kylo scowls.

“No. I’ll buy nothing this week. And you’d do well to remember that without my generosity your pathetic little farm would cease to exist. I’d be very, very careful if I were you.”

Rey watches him go, waiting until he and the rest of his men disappear behind the corner before finally allowing herself to relax. Unclenching each muscle in turn until she no longer feels her body’s fight or flight response waiting to kick in.

“Horrible man,” Paulette mutters, hissing under her breath, “If he didn’t buy a bushel of vegetables every week I’d spit on him.”

Rey lets out a hollow laugh. “I’m going to get the chickens.”

There’s no straightforward explanation for why Kylo Ren unnerves her so. Objectively, to any outside observer he would appear gentlemanly, if austere, and it’s true what Paulette said – he has bought produce from their farm pretty regularly for the last year and a half. But there’s just something about the way he always treats her – the _intensity_ of it – that she finds frightening. And while normally she tries not to let gossip affect how she sees people, the stories of times he’s lost control would be enough to alarm anyone.

“These are our servants, Your Highness.”

“Really? Oh I’d love to meet them.”

Rey turns around, chicken in hand, to find Paige approaching the booth with none other than Prince Dameron by her side and a whole host of other people (including her stepmother and Rose) following close behind.

With a shriek she throws the chicken into the air and drops to her knees, scurrying underneath the booth while Paulette and Louise hurry to use their skirts to hide her escape.

Chaos ensues – the chicken, poor thing, flying directly towards the prince in a flurry of confusion – knocking him backwards into the arms of his men and Rey cringes and buries her face into her hands when she hears the sound of boxes breaking and people shouting.

This is her reward for letting her mind wander. In her haste to avoid being caught by the prince, she may have very well inadvertently killed him.

“What are you doing?” The Baroness demands. “Trying to scare the prince to death?”

Rey can see her satin slippers peaking out from underneath the booth, and she holds her breath. If the Baroness saw her, her life will be over. Not only will she be locked in the tower for at least a week, but the prince will find out the truth about her, and she isn't prepared for that confrontation today.

“We were startled, that’s all,” Paulette instantly replies, dipping into an awkward curtsy.

“Were there just the two of you?” Prince Dameron asks, and Rey briefly crosses herself – sending gratitude into the heavens that he is not dead after all.

Not because she cares! Well, she does care, inasmuch as he is the crown prince and sole heir to the throne and she doesn’t believe anarchy benefits anyone, and of course purely from a concerned citizen standpoint she always wishes him good health (it would be a pity for him to be cut down in his prime, and by a chicken, of all things), but mostly because accidental regicide doesn’t seem like something the courts would be lenient about.

Certainly not because the potential loss of his smile from the world is something that makes her feel things she doesn’t have a name for.

“Um… there was also the chicken, Your Highness,” Louise stutters, her voice so obviously full of awe at laying eyes on the prince in person that Rey can’t help but smile to herself.

There’s a moment of silence, and then the prince laughs – warm and friendly. “I guess that’s true. Must be my mind playing tricks on me. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“Paulette and Louise, Your Highness.” Both women curtsy in unison.

“Paulette and Louise,” He repeats, and she swears she can hear a smile in his voice, “Tell me about what you’re selling today. No apples, I see.” He chuckles, almost as if sharing a secret joke with himself, and Rey covers her mouth to keep from laughing with him at the memory.

If he can crack jokes about it, he must not hold too big of a grudge against her! Which is very generous of him, she must admit, considering she's now made at least two inadvertent attempts on his life.

“No, sire,” Louise answers, “They’re a bit too raw and hard still. You’d find them too sour.”

“Yes, I believe it.” He huffs out another laugh. Rey can almost picture him rubbing the spot between his eyes where she’d hit him, and she feels a sudden urge to kiss it better.

The desire brings her up short, and she nearly chokes on her own tongue. _Where did that come from_!?

“I haven’t been to town for Market Day since I was a teenager,” Prince Dameron continues, oblivious to the young woman having a psychological crisis only a few feet away from him, “It’s time I familiarized myself with it again.”

_It’s nothing_ , Rey tells herself, trying to quell her rising panic, _j_ _ust a fleeting fancy. It’s no different than you would feel if you hurt Finn_.

She notices the Baroness’s foot tapping impatiently as the two servants stammer their replies – steadily growing in confidence the longer they talk and the more the prince seems interested in what they have to say. She’s probably annoyed that the conversation has carried on past the required formalities, but Rey finds herself unable to join in her wish for a hasty departure. Despite the crick in her neck and the rock she can feel pressing a bruise into her knee, she’s in no hurry for the prince to leave.

_He’s making an effort_ , she realizes, biting her bottom lip but unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face. He came down from the castle this morning to walk among the peasants and speak to them.

She’d never presume to take credit for his behavior – for all she knows this could have been an order from the king or some sort of civic duty to get to know his people, it probably has nothing to do with her or their conversations – but it still makes her inexplicably happy.

“How fortunate it is that we happened to cross paths this morning,” Paige says in that high-pitched tone she uses when she’s trying to get something she wants, the one that always makes Rey want to cover her ears, rudely interrupting Paulette as she was describing the best way to care for apricots, and the prince coughs uncomfortably.

“Yes. Quite fortunate.”

“Will you be joining us at church, Your Highness?” The Baroness asks, and Rey watches their feet as the group begins to move away, missing the prince’s answer. Waiting until they’re long gone before daring to climb back out of her hiding place.

"Yes," Paulette sighs, humming a happy sort of sound in the back of her throat, "He's _definitely_ handsome." 

The look she gives Rey is pointed, but Rey ignores it. Opting to stay silent under the guise of getting back to work while sneaking glances at the prince's retreating form. 

Well, she’d wanted excitement with her Market Day, and she’d certainly gotten it.

****

“Would you stop throwing that thing around? You look ridiculous.” Finn calls out to her from his spot across the field, looking very professional in his paint-covered smock, holding his palette and standing in front of an easel.

She’d snuck away with him while everyone else was at church so that he could practice painting landscapes and she could have a break, and they’d happened to find Master Skywalker’s flying contraption caught in a tree along the way. It must have blown away yesterday after she’d run off – desperate to get away before Rose got any closer and discovered her talking to the prince in her wet underclothes.

(She blushes profusely at the memory, grateful that Finn is too far away to notice and tease her about it.)

“I think the wind is supposed to make it stay up!” Rey shouts back, tossing the oddly shaped framed fabric into the air again while keeping a tight grip on the string. It’s shaped almost like a bird, and she’s certain if she can just figure out the right way –

It falls to the ground again, taking a nose-dive right into a bush, and she sighs.

“Instead of playing around with it, why don’t you go back to the castle and return it to the prince? I bet he’d love to see you, Countess. Especially now that he’s no longer engaged.” Finn laughs, wiggling his eyebrows, and Rey throws a rock at him, sticking out her tongue when he dodges the projectile with ease.

She really needs to rethink her policy of telling him everything that happens in her life. 

“I’m going to make it work, you’ll see.”

“Avoiding the topic is what you’re really doing.”

“I’m not avoiding the topic, there’s just nothing to discuss. I’m not going back to the castle, and even if I did, he wouldn’t be there – he’s at church with the Baroness and Paige. So stop your teasing!”

Rey wraps the string around her hand, holding the thin wooden frame of the contraption in the other, and looks towards the sky. Calculating. Perhaps the problem isn’t the device itself, but that she’s trying to force the wind to do all the work. A bird must flap its wings before it can soar… maybe this is a similar situation.

Lifting the contraption above her head, she begins to run – feeling the resistance increase the faster she goes – until it seems to take off on its own accord, the wind picking it up and carrying it higher. She hurriedly unwraps the string to give it more freedom to move and watches with increasing delight as it climbs high into the sky.

“Finn, look!” She shouts towards her best friend, waving her free arm wildly above her head, “It’s flying!”

“That’s great, peanut!” He grins, giving her a thumbs up, “But I don’t know why you’re so indifferent to this latest development. You’ve always said you didn’t think Paige should be queen.”

“I don’t!” Rey attempts a shrug, manipulating the string to see how it changes the flight path. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I couldn’t care less.”

“You’re lying!” Finn sets his paintbrush and palette down, wiping off his hands on his smock, before walking across the field to join her – staring up at the flying machine and marveling at its design. “If Paige marries Prince Dameron he would be your _brother-_ in-law and you’d be bringing them breakfast in bed.”

The mental image makes Rey freeze, and Finn used the opportunity to take the string from her, trying his hand at flying the device and smiling when he starts to get the hang of it.

The idea doesn’t sit right with her at all. Prince Dameron, her brother-in-law? Prince Dameron in bed with _Paige_?

She’s going to be sick.

“You’re wrong,” She protests, swallowing back bile, “Paige wouldn’t want me there. They would move into the palace and I could stay here and manage the manor. I’d never have to see them again.”

“You like him, admit it.” Finn pokes her in the ribs and Rey swats his hand away.

“Nope.”

He hands her back the string, looking at something over her shoulder, and his lips slowly spread into a smug smile. “So if you were to see him again you’d…”

“I’d walk right up to him and say, ‘Your Highness, my family is your family, please take them away.’”

“Good,” Finn chuckles, jerking his chin, “Because here he comes.”

“What?!” Rey spins around and sure enough, Prince Dameron is riding across the field on a beautiful black stallion accompanied by a few people she doesn’t recognize, but who don’t look like his usual guards. “Oh god! I have to hide!”

She tosses the string towards Finn without bothering to make sure he’s caught it and dives behind the nearby bushes, inching in as close to them as she can and praying that they’re thick enough to hide her form and that neither the prince nor his friends plan on coming this far.

The thundering hooves grow closer, shaking the ground with their weight, and Rey throws her arms over her head, burying her face in the grass.

Eventually they come to a halt, and she peeks out just enough to see that they’ve stopped next to Finn, who’s taken off his hat and contorted himself into a funny-looking bow. “Sire, to what do I owe this honor?”

He sounds so overly formal that Rey almost gives away her position by giggling. Finn never was good at staying calm in the face of surprise. Oh, he handles himself alright enough, but she knows from experience that there is a rapid monologue happening inside his head.

“I’m looking for Master Skywalker, have you seen him?” The prince asks. “He was going to accompany us on our hunt this afternoon while the others were at church.”

“Master Skywalker?” Finn shakes his head. “No, Your Highness. I think I’d remember meeting him – he’s legendary.” He sighs in admiration, and Rey rolls her eyes. The man's a little bit less of a legend when you’re both drowning in a river together.

“Isn’t that his flying contraption? Where did you get it?”

“From… uh… uh…” Finn splutters, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with an answer, and Rey can sense what’s coming with mounting dread, even as she mouths the word _no_ repeatedly at him through the bush - as if by some miracle he’ll receive her telepathic message and not say, “… Um… from the Countess de Kryze. She’s a friend of his, I think.”

_Damn it._

“You know her?” The prince asks eagerly, and Rey peeks out from between her fingers again to see him leaning towards Finn. “Please, I must find her. Where is she staying?”

_Don’t you dare, Finn!_ Rey mentally shouts, glaring daggers at him. _Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say!_

“Uh… I believe, Your Highness, that she is staying with a cousin. The… um… Baroness Tico.” Finn swallows thickly, glancing towards the bush where she’s hiding, instant regret written all over his face.

She groans, pounding the ground with her fist, but as quick as her anger came it dissipates again. Staying mad at Finn is like staying mad at the world’s most adorable puppy. His heart is always in the right place, even if he really is the worst liar. She should have known the second the prince started riding towards them that this would happen.

_Trouble_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The prince grunts at Finn’s answer. “That does present a problem.”

“But,” Finn perks up, and Rey sucks in a breath, certain that somehow this is about to get even worse, “I do know that she is there. _Alone_. Right now at this very moment.”

Prince Dameron perks up immediately, smiling at Finn like he's just been given a gift, and Rey would be lying if she said that didn't make her heart do a funny little flip inside her chest. “Excellent. Snap, change of plans. I'm not going hunting today." He tugs the reins in the opposite direction, but before he rides of he points at Finn's easel. "Nice painting.”

With a swift kick the prince and his entourage take off in the direction of the manor, and Finn visibly sags with relief. 

“Finn!” Rey jumps up, brushing off her hands and gesticulating wildly, “What have you done!?”

“Did you hear?" Finn runs up to her, gathering her into his arms in a big hug that she has to grunt and shove her way out of. "He likes my work!”

Rey grabs both of his shoulders, shaking him to try and make him understand the gravity of the situation. “And _he_ is headed towards my house!”

But rather than looking contrite, Finn crooks up the corner of his mouth in a knowing smile, and Rey has the rather sudden suspicion that she's underestimated him. “Then I suggest you take the shortcut and run home.”

And so she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been bingeing the Clone Wars this week, so I had to include Cody as a character here. The names of his son and grandchildren are a nod to some of the other clones. His wife has a Maori name, as a nod to the original actor who played him in ROTS, Temuera Morrison.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe surprises the Countess with a visit and an offer.

****

“Where did you say we were going again?” Snap asks for the third time, ambling up the dirt road at a steady pace despite Poe’s obvious attempts to get him to speed up. Lacking that same sense of urgency that has Poe’s skin buzzing from the top of his head all the way down to his toes and his stomach tying itself into knots.

“To the Tico’s estate.” He tries really hard to keep his voice level and resist the urge to stick his leg out and give Snap’s horse a good kick in the side to get moving (or perhaps he’ll miss and give his friend a good kick instead – unintentionally, of course). It’s frustrating enough that he can’t visit the Countess alone, but on top of that there’s also the pressing issue of time.

If they don’t hurry the Baroness and her daughters will return home from church and all hope of meeting with the Countess in secret will be lost and he really doesn’t want to have to explain to the Baroness why he’s more interested in the company of her mysterious cousin than he is her eldest daughter.

Besides, he’s not even sure what he would say should he have to face them, what explanation he could give that would satisfy the Baroness – whose simpering manner and calculated looks are so far removed from her spirited and unflinchingly honest younger relative. The relative who hasn’t strayed far from his thoughts in the past two days.

“Yeah, but _why_ are we going to the Tico’s estate?” Snap flicks a bee off his wrist, nearly falling off his horse when the tiny insect charges at his head in retaliation. “I was under the impression after our jousting match yesterday that Paige Tico didn’t impress you much. You seemed pretty eager to get away from her this morning.”

“We aren’t going to see Paige.” Poe glances back at the road behind them, stretching his calf muscles and rolling his ankles to rid his lower legs of the sudden adrenaline that had shot through them at the mention of her name. As if saying it out loud will somehow conjure her appearance.

It had been bad enough luck running into her that morning at the market.

He’d meant to go down with Snap and one of the guards and mingle among the farmers and merchants as relatively unnoticed as possible. Take full advantage of the opportunity Market Day presented to get to know his people better. Unfortunately, he’d exited the bakery just as the Ticos were about to enter the millinery shop across the street and his morning was immediately commandeered by a very determined and not at all subtle young lady.

Thank god Snap had thought of the hunting party excuse and pulled him out of there before _Paige_ ended up proposing to _him_ and making the whole thing one hundred times more awkward than it already was _._

Poe circles his horse around Snap’s a few times and Snap finally prompts his horse to pick up the pace. “If not her, then who? Please don’t tell me you cancelled our hunting trip and sent everyone else home just to buy some last-minute produce.”

“You could have joined them, you know,” Poe replies pointedly, “Still can, in fact. I won’t stop you.”

“Ha!” Snap rolls his eyes. “You know very well that if I let you ride off alone the king would assume the worst and you’d have the royal guard after you again.”

“I know, that’s the only reason I’m letting you tag along.”

“So, you changed plans and sent everyone away because you want to be alone at the Tico’s. The question is – why?” Snap taps his chin, scratching his beard and humming, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Who is this countess that man back there mentioned? Everything changed the second you heard her name.”

The dark rooftop and stone towers of the Baroness’s home come into view as they round the corner, and Poe absentmindedly rubs his forehead as he glances in the direction of the apple orchard. “If I tell you who she is,” He hesitates, gripping Black One’s reins a little tighter and turning him down the lane towards the manor house, “You have to promise not to tell the others. None of your usual gossip.”

Everything he does is so heavily scrutinized and this acquaintanceship with the Countess is so new – he doesn’t want to smother it before it has a chance to begin by shoving her under a magnifying glass. The court would eat her alive if they thought the crown prince showed any interest in her above and beyond his norm.

Snap snorts loudly. “That’s rich coming from you. You always have to know everything that’s going on with your friends.”

“I’m serious.” Poe levels him with a look, and there must be something either in his eyes or the tone of his voice because Snap stops chuckling and audibly snaps his mouth shut. “Her name is Countess Kira de Kryze. We met two days ago outside the castle. She –“ Poe huffs out a low laugh, shaking his head, “She’s something else.”

“Something else, huh? I assume that’s a good thing.”

Poe nods. “It’s a very good thing. She said I was _difficult_ ,” He recalls with a laugh, and Snap joins in.

“Bold! I like her already.”

Bold, smart, challenging, passionate, independent, strong, not to mention beautiful. _Something else_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Every interaction they’ve had, however brief, has only left him wanting more. He feels drawn to her, although whether that’s because she’s something new - a puzzle he wants to figure out - or due to some deeper, instinctual pull, he isn’t sure yet.

They pass the stone wall marking the edge of the property and he urges Black One to speed up into a canter, unwilling to wait for Snap’s slow ass any longer. He can find the rest of the way down the path on his own well enough.

In a matter of seconds he’s arrived at the front door, and Poe slides off the saddle before the horse has come to a full stop, landing on his feet with a steadiness gained from years of impatient dismounts - running his hand through his hair and praying his curls aren’t too wildly out of place before tugging at his shirt. He’s never visited someone else’s house so informally before, and he’s not quite sure how to go about it.

Should he knock?

His choice is made for him only moments later when the Countess herself wrenches open the door and almost falls out of it in a cloud of sage green silk, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. She lays a hand on the stone wall for support, visibly calming herself, before looking up at him with a cheerful, if somewhat breathless, greeting. “Your Highness, what an unexpected surprise!”

“Countess,” He smiles with schoolboy giddiness, pleased that she seems happy to see him, only to realize with increasing mortification that his palms are starting to sweat, “This is a wonderful surprise as well.” He surreptitiously wipes them off on his trousers, cursing his body’s juvenile reaction to seeing her again. You’d think he was fourteen, not twenty-seven.

She places her hand over her heart, taking another deep breath, before shutting the door behind her and stepping towards him. Lifting the skirt of her dress with great care, as if afraid it might come to harm in the few feet it takes for her to move closer.

He must admit, he hadn’t expected her to be so fastidious after catching her swimming in her undergarments yesterday, but the dress is indeed beautiful on her – the viridescent shades complimenting her dark hair and making her hazel eyes appear more green in the sunshine – and must have been expensive, so he can’t blame her for being extra cautious.

It’s a virtue he could stand to learn. His own clothes are only presentable because there are seamstresses who are paid to fix them when he comes home with smudges and tears after a day spent in the woods. In fact, he’s afraid to check now, but he’s fairly certain the shirt he’s wearing has a rip underneath the right armpit. And he’s lost track of the number of items he’s given away to friends and relatives.

(His grandmother would be mortified if she knew how little he cared about his wardrobe.)

“How did you find me?” She peers up at him, a crease forming between her brows even as her mouth quirks up in a half-smile, and Poe self-consciously rubs the back of his neck, his fingers catching on the chain that carries his mother’s ring.

“I met a friend of yours just a few miles from here, a painter, I think. He mentioned that the Ticos are your cousins – with much less prodding than you required, I might add.” He raises his eyebrows, teasing, and she blushes. 

“Oh, Finn. Yes, he’s an artist studying under Master Phasma.” Her voice is warm, her wary smile softening into something fond and affectionate, and Poe’s heart constricts painfully. An unfamiliar ache appearing in his jaw that he refuses to call jealousy.

“I’ve heard of her. She’s very skilled, but… he has my condolences,” Poe jokes, pulling a face and feeling gratified when she laughs. “Have you known him long?”

_Keep it casual, Dameron, there was never any guarantee she was single._

His eyes drop to her left hand, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he finds no ring there. Although, perhaps as a painter this Finn fellow simply couldn’t afford one. The thought has him clenching his teeth while trying not to give his thoughts away.

“Practically my whole life. We grew up together.”

Poe absorbs this information while the Countess walks past him and up to his horse, holding out her hand to his nose so that he can familiarize himself with her smell before she starts to pet him. Rubbing circles into Black One’s forehead and whispering words only the animal can hear.

“Right…” He finally says, “And is he going to mind if I ask you to spend the afternoon with me?”

“Why would he mind?” She scratches Black One’s neck and massages underneath the straps of his bridle, giggling when he whinnies happily and nuzzles her shoulder in return.

He almost groans. She isn’t making this easy on him. “I don’t know… if you and he are…”

“What?” She looks adorably confused for a moment, and then her face lights up with understanding. “Oh! No. Definitely not. We did wonder, a few years ago, if maybe we were meant to be more than friends, but then Finn started his apprenticeship and it was harvest season and we were both so busy we just forgot.”

“You forgot?” A sound of disbelief bursts out of him while his body floods with relief. A young, idealistic courtier engaged to a handsome painter sounded like a story straight from a romantic play – he wasn’t sure he could compete with that.

Although, he knows from his own experience that the bonds of friendship run just as strong, and he makes a mental note to try and befriend Finn if he ever has the chance. Hopefully they’ll get along well.

“Yeah,” She shrugs, absentmindedly running her fingers through Black One’s mane and untangling some of the more unruly pieces, “And by the time we remembered, we knew we didn’t have any romantic feelings for each other. He’s like my brother.” 

“Well that’s good.” He smiles and steps up beside her, reaching out to lovingly pat his horse’s side. Their fingers brush against each other, the contact brief and as light as a feather, and it’s enough to send Poe’s heart racing. He looks back at her, hoping to find some evidence that she’s equally as affected, but instead he finds her cocking her head and squinting at him.

“Why is that good?”

_Damn it_.

He’s saved from having to respond by Snap’s arrival. Not a minute too soon.

“Snap, you finally made it!”

“Not all of us were willing to risk life and limb to get here,” He grumbles, rolling his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it and his attention is quickly captured by the girl at Poe’s side. “Who’s this?”

“Countess, may I introduce my best friend, Sir Temmin ‘Snap’ Wexley.” Poe gestures for her to step in front of him, pressing his lips together so that he doesn’t laugh when she does an awkward half-curtsy/half-bow, and he can see Snap trying not to laugh as well. Clearly she isn’t used to meeting other members of the nobility, which only serves to add to her mystique. “Sir Wexley, _this_ is Countess Kira de Kryze.”

Snap dismounts, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud, and sticks out his hand. Smiling in amusement when she seems much more comfortable shaking it than she did curtsying. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too.” She releases her bottom lip from between her teeth so that she can offer him a friendly smile, and Poe files away that nervous habit as something new he’s learned about her. Eager to catalog every piece of information that he can. “Why does he call you Snap?”

“He was always snapping his fingers as a kid, everywhere he went,” Poe explains.

“I grew out of it a long time ago,” Snap quickly adds, shooting daggers at Poe, but he simply grins back at him. Try all he might to play the part of a noble, mature earl, Snap will always be the same kid who tagged along with all of Poe’s wild plans and followed him into trouble time and time again. He can’t imagine ever calling him _Temmin_. To do so would be putting the last nail in the coffin of their youth.

“You could hear him coming from a mile away,” Poe continues, still teasing, “It was actually pretty convenient. Always knew where he was.”

“Unlike you,” Snap shoots back, “Who’s never where he’s supposed to be. Speaking of – Countess, you don’t attend church?”

“Um…” She captures her bottom lip again and glances at Poe before shaking her head, “My faith is better served away from the crowds, which, um, seem to have increased lately.” She looks past them towards the road before turning to pet Black One again.

There’s a hint of deeper meaning to her statement, and Poe realizes with a blush of his own that she must mean the crowds around him, in particular. “Oh, so you heard about the, er, policy change then?”

She’s silent, and for a second he thinks he guessed wrong, but then finally her eyes widen and she nods – turning to face him again with a hint of a smirk. “Your renewed eligibility has been mentioned here once or twice, yes.”

“Yeah,” He sighs, running his hand through his hair again, “I’m afraid my father’s edict has created quite a phenomenon. Which is why I was going to go hunting this afternoon, but then I met Finn and he mentioned you and I thought you might be more interested in visiting the monastery. The Franciscans have an astonishing library and since you are so fond of reading, I thought you might want to join me.” He raises his inflection on the last word, turning his statement into a question, and waits anxiously for her reply.

Perhaps she has other plans, or perhaps she’s not nearly as fascinated by him as he is by her and would rather not spend any more time in his company, or perhaps she simply doesn’t want to. Any of those answers he would respect, but he can’t deny the way his guts have twisted themselves up at the possibility.

Rather than say any of those things, however, she smiles almost shyly and says, “It’s not fair, sire, you have found my weakness, but I have yet to learn yours.”

“I should think it was quite obvious.” The words slip out before he has time to overthink them, and he almost apologizes for flirting until he realizes that rather than looking uncomfortable, her smile grows wider and her face lights up at the compliment.

“I’d be happy to go with you to see the library, Prince Dameron, thank you.”

“It’s Poe.” He corrects her just like he did yesterday, eager to leave behind the rules that separate them. “Today I am simply Poe.”

“Poe,” She tries it out for herself, flashing her dimples as the simple sound leaves her lips. He’s never really given much thought to his own name. It’s short, easy to pronounce, gets the job done. But somehow when she says it, it sounds brand new. “Then you must call me Kira.”

“Kira,” He repeats it with a smile, but then a look of discomfort flashes across her face too quick for her to hide and he feels a pang of doubt. Reaching out, Poe gently takes her elbow. “Are you sure that’s okay? We can keep it more formal if that’s what you want.”

“No,” She shakes her head, her answer firm, “Kira is fine. Just… just for today.”

“Just for today.” Poe nods, giving her elbow a quick squeeze before letting go. It’s understandable that she’d be concerned with dropping the appropriate titles so soon. Really, it was incredibly bold (and probably very inappropriate) of him to even suggest it, but titles create distance, and distance from her is the last thing he wants.

The sound of a throat loudly clearing behind them catches their attention, and Poe turns around to find Snap seated back on his horse watching them both with a gleeful twinkle in his eye.

Oh yeah, he’s definitely getting teased for this later. But Kira’s agreed to spend the afternoon with him, so it’s worth it. 

“If you want to go to the monastery before the Baroness returns, we’d better leave soon.”

“Right,” Kira straightens at Snap’s suggestion, “Um, how do you propose we get there? I can ride, but if the Baroness notices a horse missing that would alert her to my absence and she would definitely send men out to find me.”

“It’s nice that she has so much concern for you,” Poe says, and Kira’s nose scrunches up in a funny way that makes him laugh out loud, “But I agree, that’s not something we want today. You can ride with me on Black One, if that’s okay with you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. My only complaint is that I won’t be able to prove I’m the better rider.” She raises her eyebrow at him, her mouth twitching at the corner, and moves to lift her foot into the stirrup – only to huff in annoyance when her heavy dress doesn’t allow as much movement as she must be used to.

“Here, let me.” Poe cautiously places his hands on either side of her slender waist, giving her plenty of opportunity to stop him if she feels uncomfortable, and then lifts her onto the back of his horse. 

(He definitely does not think about how easy to carry she is, or notice the curve of her hips under his hands, or get distracted by the feeling of her fingers digging into his shoulders for support. He is a gentleman, thank you very much.)

“Um,” He laughs at her confidence, making sure she’s balanced before sharing a skeptical look with Snap, “It’s impolite to disagree with a lady, but I’m going to have to here.”

“You can disagree all you want, but it’s true. My father taught me when I was young, and he was an expert.”

She holds on tightly to the reins while he fits his foot into the stirrup and swings his leg over the saddle, and Poe immediately realizes he’s made a severe error in judgement.

Sharing a horse means she’s sitting right in front of him, her back pressed against his front, her long hair - only partially tied back today - swept to one side and revealing the long creamy expanse of her neck and shoulder only inches from his mouth, his arms wrapped around her body so that he can hold the reins and steer, and they’re going to be like this for a few miles.

A few _torturous_ miles. 

Snap clears his throat again and Poe shakes himself out of that dangerous line of thinking, shifting his hips backwards and sitting up straighter. “Well my mother taught me, and she was the best rider in the whole country.”

“Then I suppose next time you and I will have to put it to a test.” She issues the challenge easily and without any trace of doubt in her voice, and he’s so happy to hear her talking about a next time that he immediately accepts, even though he knows he’ll feel guilty when she inevitably loses.

(She may be confident, but he is too. He can ride anything.)

“That can be arranged.”

Upon their arrival at the monastery Snap immediately excuses himself to sample some of the famed Franciscan beer, and Poe makes a mental note to thank him later. As much as he’d clearly enjoyed sending Poe teasing looks the entire ride, he’d understood that he would want a chance to spend some time with Kira alone - and for that Poe is infinitely grateful.

Not that she’d given him much of a chance at first. She was patient and polite while the abbot welcomed them and listened with rapt attention while he gave them a brief tour of the building and its many rooms – her eyes practically popping out of her head at the sight of so many books in one place – but as soon as the abbot set them free to peruse at their own leisure she’d been off like a shot, anxious to explore.

“You know, it’s alright if you want to take them off their shelves.” Poe gestures towards the book she’d been staring at, smiling when a flush creeps up her neck. “They won’t bite.”

“I’m afraid if I touch them, they might disappear, and I’ll wake up to find it’s all been a dream.”

Poe hums, taking the book off the shelf for her and placing it gently in her hands. “It’s not a dream.”

He watches her tentatively take ahold of the cover, turning it over with the same precision of the royal jeweler – holding the book open between her palms like it’s the most precious gem – and warmth spreads inside his chest.

“ _The Faerie Queene_ by Edmund Spenser,” She reads aloud, tracing the letters with her index finger, “I’ve never seen a book written like this.” She holds it out, inviting him to look over her shoulder, and Poe happily steps forward so that he can see what she’s referring to. 

“It’s poetry,” He explains, pointing at the roman numerals that separate each verse, “The words are broken up into stanzas to give it rhythm or add meaning. Have you never read poetry before?”

“No.” Kira shakes her head, thumbing through the rest of the book and pausing every few pages to read a couple of lines before moving on, leaving Poe free to admire her while she skims through it. 

This particular bookshelf is located in front of one of the monastery’s tall windows, and the afternoon light is streaming through the glass at the perfect angle. Pouring over her like golden syrup, highlighting the mahogany strands in her hair and making her appear almost angelic. Like a Giotto painting with its resplendent halos.

“’Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Poe recites, capturing a few curls at the end of her hair and winding them around his finger, noting how soft the strands are, “’Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’”

“What?” She peers up at him and his breath catches in his throat. He hadn’t realized how close they were standing until now. Here, in this little alcove, tucked away from everyone else. If she wanted him to, he could lean in close and kiss her. 

“It’s Shakespeare – more poetry.” He turns towards the bookshelf to stop himself from giving into the impulse, scanning the rows until he finds what he’s looking for, and then retrieves a thin leather-bound book and hands it to her. “Sonnet eighteen. You’ll find many poems worth reading in here.”

“I think I like it better when you say them,” She admits softly, accepting the book and holding it close over her heart for a moment, before moving to return it to its place.

Poe darts his hand out to stop her, his fingers tingling where they meet her own. “What are you doing? Take it home and read it. You might find it’s just as fun to lecture me about ethics in iambic pentameter.”

He winks and a surprised laugh bubbles out of Kira. “I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure you’re right.”

“Hold on – you’re admitting I’m right about something?” Poe's eyes dart around the room until he finds what he's looking for, and he grabs a scrap of paper and quill off a nearby desk and pretends to write. “I’ve got to mark this down so I can remember the day.”

“Stop.” Kira laughs, plucking the quill out of his hand. “You’ll waste the paper.”

“Fine.” He allows her to put both items back in their proper place, smirking when she takes the time to make sure each one is laying exactly how he found it. “But don’t think I won’t bring this up again next time you’re telling me I’m difficult.”

“Don’t be difficult and there won’t be a next time.” She quips, eyes twinkling with mirth, and Poe throws his head back and laughs.

“Noted. I’ll do my best to be amenable to all your wishes from now on.”

“You’ve already satisfied all my wishes.” Kira throws out her arms, gesturing widely to the room around them. “I never imagined a place like this could exist. To be here, to be allowed to touch and to read – even if for a day… this is the happiest I’ve felt in a long time.” 

A shadow passes across her face, a hint of sadness in her voice, and Poe decides to be bold and take her hand. Smiling when she doesn't pull away or reprimand him for his audacity and instead cups her hand around his and gives it a squeeze. He doesn’t know what it was, what memory or source of grief came to mind that caused her to lose a bit of her spark, but he wants to fix it.

“What is it that makes you love books so much?”

“I guess…” She twists away from him so that she can run her fingertips along the spines on a nearby shelf, but keeps her other hand in his, and Poe reflexively clenches around it – liking the feeling of her palm pressed against his own far more than he probably should, “It’s because when I was young my father would stay up late and read to me. He was addicted to the written word. I would fall asleep listening to the sound of his voice night after night.”

“What sort of books?”

“Science, philosophy, history, economics. I suppose they remind me of him.” She sighs, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud are costing her something dear. “He died when I was eight. _Utopia_ was the last book he brought home.”

Kira swallows thickly, turning her face away to hide the tears he’d seen pricking the corners of her eyes, and Poe finds himself struggling to contain the ghosts of his own grief, even as he nods in understanding. “Which explains why you quote it.”

“I would rather hear his voice again than any sound in the world.” She rubs her eyes furiously, as if embarrassed by her emotions, and Poe takes a deep breath to steady himself – preparing to open a wound he hasn’t touched in well over a decade.

“My mother died when I was about that age.” He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb but refuses to look at her, even when he feels her gaze upon his face. If he does, he won’t be able to say what he needs to say. “At first the physician said it was nothing. Ill-humors. He recommended changing her diet to stop the stomach pain and that was it. But then it got worse. She stopped eating, and when my father did manage to get her to swallow something, she threw it back up again. I watched, helpless, as she grew weaker and weaker every week. Unable to do anything useful.”

Kira wraps her hand around his elbow, speaking gently, but firmly. “You were a child. There was nothing you could have done.”

Poe nods, although he can’t quite bring himself to agree with her. He’ll never be able to shake the feeling that if he’d been older, smarter, faster, maybe he could have prevented the spread of the disease before it was too late. Forced the physicians to find a cure.

“I used to sit by her bedside and read her poetry.”

The confession surprises him. He’s never told anyone else that he did that, not even his father. It was something he’d shared only with his mother, and Poe reaches for the ring hanging around his neck – clutching onto it like a lifeline.

“Which explains why you quote it.” She repeats his words back to him, nudging his arm and offering him a small smile, and Poe lets out a surprised laugh. Her gentle teasing enough to pull him out of the dark mood he’d been rapidly descending into.

“Yeah.” He looks at her then, wiping away the tears in his eyes, and finds her looking at him not with pity or discomfort – as he would have expected from any other courtier – but with the shared sorrow of someone who knows his grief intimately and feels only compassion and understanding.

“Tell me about your mother,” She says, her tone making it obvious that it’s a request, not a command, and so he does.

Poe tells her about her service in the war, how fearless she was, her skill on horseback – unmatched by even the best male riders in the kingdom. He tells her about the time when he was five and wanted to enter the annual cross-country equestrian jumping competition meant for adults. His father had said it was crazy, but Shara Bey had simply told the king not to think about it too much and let him try (he’d broken his wrist, but it had been so much fun he’d tried again the following year and done better than expected).

He tells her about when he was seven and a period of intense rain showers had wiped out that year’s crops, leading to massive food shortages. "People were hurting. People were suffering.” Poe repeats his mother’s words, shutting his eyes at the memory. Even now he can still picture her in the throne room, resplendent in her most regal dress and yet exuding a fierceness that came from within and had nothing to do with her title. “She couldn’t just sit still and do nothing. Within weeks she had set up a supply chain across the country that got everyone through the winter. Thousands survived because of her initiative and quick-thinking."

“She sounds like an amazing woman.” Kira runs her thumb across his knuckles, and he wonders if they’ve crossed the line for how long its acceptable to hold a lady’s hand. And if it’s possible to continue doing so forever.

“She was. I wish I was more like her.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“No,” Poe shakes his head, huffing out a self-deprecating laugh and rubbing the back of his neck, “She had purpose. Ambition. I wish I had a project I was working towards – something of my own – but all I ever do is… chase adventure.”

Maybe his father is right. Maybe he is too free-spirited and reckless to be a real leader.

“Maybe,” Kira suggests gently, “You could channel that energy into chasing something more concrete. Something that could help your people.”

“Something _Utopian_?” He arches his eyebrow, and she laughs.

“Exactly. Difficult is just another word for stubborn, and that's not always a bad thing. I’m sure if you put your mind to it you could come up with something.”

He hums noncommittedly, and she fixes him with a look and shakes her head in fond exasperation.

If he were bolder and confident that she wanted him to, he'd kiss her. Cup her face in his hands and press his lips against her pretty pink ones and silently tell her what he's feeling in his heart - gratitude for her support, her willingness to listen, her kindness - but this is all so new and he doesn't want to risk smothering it before it can grow. Whatever _this_ is.

He hopes it's something. Oh, how he hopes. 

“Come on.” He pulls on her hand just enough to get her to follow him into the next room. “Enough serious talk. We’re here to explore the library so let’s explore.”

She doesn’t fight him on it, and Poe lets himself get lost in her enthusiasm and unadulterated joy. There will be plenty of time later for soul-searching and analysis. For now all he wants is to enjoy every second he has with the remarkable woman at his side. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Poe leave the monastery and adventures ensue!

“So what does Poe do?” Snap throws his hand out to the side, grinning from ear to ear. “He decides to face a dozen drunk men fresh from the pub. Probably not much older than he was at the time, but definitely taller. No weapons. No armor. Just a skinny prince barely out of his teenage years dressed in his Sunday best fighting a bunch of rascals over a mangy dog right outside the cathedral. In full view of the king and queen and practically the entire court, I might add. I swear no less than five ladies fainted when he emerged from the scuffle covered in blood and bruises.”

“I don’t know why you insist on telling this story,” Poe grumbles, his breath tickling the hairs on Rey’s neck and making her shiver despite the warm afternoon, “It’s not like you didn’t jump right in and fight them with me.”

“Because the look on Madame Holdo’s face was _priceless_. It’s one of my favorite memories. She was almost apoplectic; I thought her hair was going to turn maroon to match her face.” Snap throws his head back, clutching his stomach while he laughs, and Rey finds herself laughing more at him than she is the story.

She doesn’t know him well, this friend of Poe’s, but she’s already decided she likes him. He has a jolly face and round rosy cheeks underneath his fashionable beard, and he seems like the type of person who’s perpetually in a good mood.

“Sorry about this.” Poe gestures to the other man with his thumb. “Snap’s very loose-lipped when he’s had too much to drink, and the Franciscan beer is his particular weakness.”

“I don’t mind.” Rey grips her thin book of poetry a little tighter, clutching it to her chest while making sure to keep a firm hold on the horse’s mane while they ride along the path through the woods. It’s the only book she’d agreed to take home, and she intends to return it in perfect condition. “I like learning more about you.”

She can feel Poe’s laughter in his chest where it bumps up against her back, and for a moment she allows herself to relax into him – enjoying having his strong arms wrapped around her and the press of his body against hers far more than a lady probably should. (But she isn’t a lady, she reasons, so it’s alright to indulge. Especially when it’s only once.)

“Just don’t believe everything he says.” He whispers, his voice teasing, and she wonders if he meant for his lips to graze the shell of her ear or if it was an accident.

“So you _didn’t_ get into a bloody fistfight just to save a dog?” Rey turns her head just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye, and Poe grins.

“Well, he wasn’t just any dog. I knew Beebee was special from the moment I laid eyes on him. And those guys deserved it for picking on a helpless animal. If it had been up to me, I would have had them all thrown in jail. You met him, actually, outside the castle.”

Rey hums, shifting in the saddle again to try and get comfortable. As much as there are benefits to sharing a horse with Poe, it is infinitely more difficult to stay balanced with two riders. Especially while wearing one of Rose’s finest dresses. As beautiful as it is, she’d much prefer her regular work dress or even a pair of trousers.

“He was very sweet.” She smiles, remembering the way Beebee had bounded up to her – wagging his tail so hard she’d been afraid he might get hurt and licking every part of her skin he could reach. If it were possible, he’s exactly the kind of dog she’d choose for herself.

“Yeah, he can be,” Poe chuckles, “When he’s not getting into trouble. He has a gift for mischief.”

“Like his master?” Snap interjects and Rey bursts into giggles at the affronted noise Poe makes behind her.

The two men engage in a heated debate, tossing friendly insults back and forth as they argue over what defines an action as foolish or brave, and Rey settles in – content to let them banter while she enjoys the ride home.

The last twelve hours have been a whirlwind and she could use a moment to quietly take it all in. First, there had been the anticipation and hustle and bustle of Market Day, then the uncomfortable interaction with Kylo Ren, then she’d almost been caught in her lie by Poe and her stepsister (guilt lances through her chest, and Rey tries to ignore how heavy the lie sits in her stomach), all before finding Master Skywalker’s flying machine with Finn. And as if all of that wasn’t enough, she’d now spent the entire afternoon exploring the most unlikely place with the very prince she’d sworn only hours ago she didn’t like.

Except… she does like him.

She likes him a lot.

She’d thought him arrogant at first, but he isn’t – not really. He was just born to privilege and with that came certain prejudices, but he’s proven himself willing to learn and change. And in bonding with him over the deaths of their parents she’d found not pity, but a level of sympathy and understanding she hasn’t felt with anyone else. Someone who could understand her pain and make her feel less alone, and not only that, but he’d been able to make her laugh. She’s smiled more today than she has in recent memory.

They’d spent hours poring over the sunlit shelves, selecting books to look at, sharing their interests, reading passages to each other out loud and discussing them at length. Everything from philosophy and astronomy and mechanics to farming and economics to newer works of fiction and popular plays.

It’s no surprise that he’s much more well-read than she is, but he never made her feel sorry for it. Instead it was as if came alive at the prospect of sharing his knowledge, climbing ladders to find his favorite books so that he could show her, reciting his favorite lines of poetry (her heart still hasn’t recovered from hearing him say the words ‘thou art more lovely’), finding a piece of paper and quill so that he could write down all the titles of the books she expressed an interest in and where to find them so that she could return whenever she wanted.

(She won’t, of course, because there will never be an opportunity like this again, but just the fact that he’d cared enough to do it meant the world to her.)

The most amazing thing was that he’d cared about her opinion. He never once laughed at her ideas about how to improve society or better farming techniques or how to rearrange the stalls on Market Day to better facilitate shopping and increase sales. “You’re so smart,” He’d said instead, “You should be the next one to lead the country. I think if anyone can save the world, it’s you.”

A ridiculous idea, of course. She’s a nobody from nowhere with no formal education other than a few fraying books and the limited experience a hard life brings. But that he’d thought so highly of her – enough to tell her – was worth everything.

Leaving the monastery had been like saying farewell to a beloved dream. The kind of dream where everything is perfect and golden and warm and safe. One in which they really could be simply Poe and Kira, two people free to do and say as they wished without rules or mores or class barriers between them.

If only it didn’t have to end.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, low enough so that Snap doesn’t hear, and Rey imagines his arms tightening around her, daydreaming about what it would be like to be held by him for real.

“Of course I am, why?”

“You haven’t said anything for a while, I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep.”

“No, I’m wide awake.” She sits up, hoping he doesn’t think her impertinent or improper for leaning against him for so long. “Where’s Snap?”

He’s no longer riding beside them, and they both turn and find him a few yards back standing next to his horse. Apparently having dismounted without either of them noticing.

“You alright, buddy?” Poe calls out, tugging on the reins and turning around to return to Snap’s side.

The horse, a beautiful palomino, neighs while Snap rubs her leg, his brow wrinkling in concern. “I think she’s stepped on a stone and bruised the sole of her foot. She started limping.”

“Here, let me look.” Poe quickly dismounts and Rey follows suit, taking the Black One’s reins and bringing him around so that she can stand next to the two men and see what’s going on.

Poe coaxes the horse’s leg from up off the ground, bending it over his knee so that he can get a better look, and Rey cranes her neck to look over his shoulder. There’s a visibly reddened area, and the poor animal tries to jerk her leg away when Poe carefully presses on it. “Yep. I think you’re right. This spot is overly warm and she clearly reacted to me touching it. This old girl can’t carry anyone until this heals. We’ll have to summon the farrier when he get back to the castle and have him assemble a poultice and bandage.”

“I can walk back with her,” Snap offers, but Poe’s already shaking his head before he can finish his sentence.

“You’re drunk. I’m not leaving you alone miles away from the castle with a lame horse when you can barely walk straight.”

“I can walk.” Snap folds his arms over his chest and scowls, but acquiesces when Poe simply raises his eyebrows – a silent conversation passing between them. “Fine. Then what do you propose?”

Poe absentmindedly scratches the shadow of growth on his cheek while he thinks of a solution, and Rey decides she likes it – wonders what he’d look like with it even longer, what it might feel like against the palm of her hand. Would it be rough, or soft like the curls on his head?

“You should take Black One,” Poe finally says, “You’ll be faster that way and he’s smart enough to keep you seated upright without too much effort.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Snap protests again, but his argument is hindered by the hiccup that cuts his third word in half, and Rey covers her mouth to hide her giggles.

Poe laughs too, sharing a look with her that she can’t quite decipher before taking Black One’s reins and handing them to Snap. “It’s a good plan. You can ride back and get fresh horses and Kira and I will make our way slowly walking with Star here.” He pats Snap’s horse on the nose, rubbing circles over the white spot on her forehead, and she whinnies softly and nudges his hand.

“I don’t know…” Snap looks back and forth between them. “If I show up without you it will raise questions.”

“Tell them the truth. Just…” Poe glances at her, “Maybe leave Lady Kira out of it. We don’t want news of this spreading around the royal court. People love to gossip, and I won’t risk her reputation.”

Rey lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. No, she definitely doesn’t want this spreading around. Although not because she’s worried about her reputation (ha! What reputation?), but because the fewer people who know about her secret alias, the better. It wouldn’t take the Baroness long to put two and two together and figure out who Countess Kira de Kryze really is.

“Are you comfortable with that?” Snap turns to look at her, his eyes sharp despite the alcohol. “You can say no if you want and one of us will escort you home on Black One.”

“It’s fine.” Rey nods, eager to spend more time alone with Poe while she still can and prolong their inevitable separation for as long as possible. “I don’t mind walking.”

“See?” Poe relaxes, tossing her a smile. “We’ll be fine. Go ahead without us.”

“Okay.” Snap agrees, although he still seems hesitant, and clumsily climbs onto the back of Black One. “Try not to get into any trouble, please. If any harm comes to you it’s my neck on the line.”

“No harm will come to me. I have Kira for protection.” Poe winks and she laughs. If only he knew what she was capable of – especially if properly armed with fruit. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

They’re lost.

It turns out the worst thing that could happen was a fork in the road without any noticeable markings or signs to direct them which way to go. Their only option had been to guess, and they’d guessed wrong.

“We should be heading north-east, but we’ve been going south for the better part of half an hour.” Poe comes to a stop, propping both hands on his hips and checking the location of the sun before looking around at the thickening trees and fading pathway.

Behind him, Rey stands up from where she’d been kneeling, holding a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers to her nose and breathing in their heavenly scent. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Venting his frustration, he kicks a pebble with the toe of his boot – sending it flying off into the distance – before sighing and coming back to her side, sagging against the trunk of a tree. “I thought the road would eventually curve around.” 

“I don’t think it’s going to.” Rey points out helpfully, and Poe snorts.

“Me either. This is embarrassing – you’d think I’d know the way to my own castle.” He folds his arms and leans his head back, closing his eyes and sighing.

It’s late afternoon. The sun is sinking in the west, moving steadily closer to dusk, and if she doesn’t return home soon there will be hell to pay. Assuming she’s been lucky and her absence hasn’t been noted. As it is, she’s already going to have to come up with some excuse for why her usual Sunday chores aren’t done. They really can’t afford to wander around the woods lost all night.

They need to know where they are and fast.

“Hang on. I think I have an idea.” Tying Star’s reins around one of the smaller trunks, Rey walks over to the base of the tallest tree - reaching for the lowest branch to hoist herself up and rolling her eyes when the dress immediately restricts her movements, preventing her from raising her arm higher than her shoulder.

That simply won’t do. 

“What are you doing?” Poe watches her curiously, chuckling when she tries raising her arms a few more times to no avail.

There’s no other choice. She’s going to have to take it off.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“I can’t climb with this dress on.” Rey tries lifting her arms up again, as if he needs another demonstration. “Turn around.”

Poe’s smile fades into disbelief, and he shakes his head. “You can’t climb a tree.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes at that. Perhaps she isn’t _supposed_ to, but what does that matter? They need to find their way home and this is the fastest way to do that. “Yes, I can. I do it all the time.”

He doesn’t hide his surprise, and she could almost laugh at the dumbfounded look on his face.

“It’s not safe.” Poe kicks off from the tree he’d been leaning against and walks over to her, staring up at all the branches above them. “What if you get hurt?”

“I won’t get hurt,” She insists, “Now turn around.”

“At least let me climb it.”

“No. If you fall you might break your royal neck and then where would we be? I’m no one, it’s far less of a risk. Nobody would be devastated if I fell.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but it’s obvious from the way his body stiffens and the clench of his jaw that he finds it anything but funny.

“No one is no one,” Poe turns to face her fully, his tone serious and his face blazing with some deep emotion, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “You’ve taught me that. And I personally know of at least one person who would be very devastated if you fell.”

Unused to such care and attention, Rey blushes and drops her gaze to the gold embroidery on his doublet – finding it much easier to stare at the intricate swirls and delicate lines than trying to decipher what’s going on behind his beautiful dark brown eyes. “Thank you, but it’ll be faster if I go. Now stop arguing and turn around.”

“Kira –“

“Now!” She commands with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood by circling her index finger in the air to show him what she wants.

“You are – you are something else.” He huffs, but does as he’s told, and Rey grins at the back of his head.

“Thank you.”

Her fingers fumble over the laces, lacking in the skill and speed with which Paulette and Louise had helped her into the dress when she’d rushed to put it on earlier, but eventually she gets them loose enough that she can slip her arms out of the sleeves and shimmy the fabric over her hips and let it fall to the forest floor. 

Without the silk and satin in the way, she’s free to climb – the branches much easier to reach and hold on to without tight stitching holding her arms down – and it doesn’t take long before she’s reached the top. Ducking and scrambling under and around the narrow gaps and choosing her footholds with extra care, lest she pick a branch that’s too thin to hold her weight and go tumbling to the earth.

“Are you okay up there?” Poe shouts from below, and she looks down to find him pacing back and forth and watching her like a hawk. From where she is, he’s no bigger than a mouse, and Rey waves down at him.

“Yes!”

The tree is just tall enough to clear the tops of the surrounding foliage, and Rey shades her eyes with the hand not holding onto the trunk and searches for the castle. Doing a little hop when she spots it in the distance.

“Do you see anything?”

“It’s back that way!” She answers, pointing towards it, and she hears him grumbling below. Can almost perfectly picture the way he’d have his hands on his hips and the crease between his eyebrows.

(When did she start memorizing his expressions?)

“I still can’t believe that I’m down here while you’re up there! And in your undergarments, no less!”

“I couldn’t reach the branches in that gown!” Not to mention if it had been scratched or torn she has no idea how she would have explained it to anyone back home. And, even though it doesn’t belong to her, green is her favorite color and the dress is exceptionally pretty – she’d hate to see it ruined. Even in the name of a good cause.

“You swim alone, climb trees, rescue servants, is there anything you don’t do?”

“Fly,” Rey jokes, making sure she’s balanced before spreading her arms out wide and closing her eyes to the sun, “Now turn around so I can climb back down.”

She’s barely started to descend when she hears sounds of a scuffle below, and through the branches she can see Poe is no longer alone. There seems to be at least twenty rough-looking men surrounding him, backing him up against the tree trunk, and he rapidly unsheathes his sword.

_Uh oh_. They definitely don’t seem like they’re here to discuss the weather.

The clanging of steel echoes through the woods and Rey start to climb down faster, her feet slipping on a few of the branches and her hands scraping against the rough bark. With each clash of the blades the men jeer and shout expletives, erupting into raucous laughter at one point when Poe trips over a rock – only to curse him again in their next breath when he lands a solid blow on his opponent’s right flank.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do enough damage to stop him.

“Get ‘im, Hondo!” The men yell, cheering him on, and Rey gulps.

She’s got to get to Poe. _Fast_. He’s holding his own well enough now, but there’s no way these men are going to simply walk away even if he does win this fight. Another one will simply step forward until he’s defeated and she can’t let that happen. If she can find a sword or a dagger or even a decent sized log the two of them might be able to fend the men off long enough to escape.

Impatient to help, Rey forgoes the last few feet of branches and jumps to the ground instead – landing with a thud that she feels reverberating all the way up the back of her legs.

“My wife thanks you for this fine garment, m’lady.”

She spins around to find one of the ruffians holding her dress, crumpling the fine fabric in his filthy hands, and she scowls. “You will give me back my dress, sir!”

The other men laugh, clearly delighted by her appearance, and fury flares inside her chest – white hot and savage. With a fierce cry she snaps a small, but long, branch off the tree and whips it across the man’s face, forcing him to drop the gown and hold his hand over the red welt already beginning to form. His eyes spitting fire at her.

It won’t be long before either he or someone else retaliates, so Rey rushes to help Poe – pausing for only a split-second to make sure she won’t accidentally impale herself before jumping onto the back of his opponent – _Hondo_ \- and knocking him to the ground.

Poe gapes at her in shock, but before she can pick up the man’s sword and run to Poe’s side two pairs of arms wrap around her from behind. They kick the sword away and drag her back into the crowd where Poe can’t reach her, holding a dagger to her neck.

She fights back at first, desperately trying to wrench her arms free, but they dig the cold metal harder into her skin, forcing her to hold still. Pressing it hard enough that she feels blood slowly begin to trickle down her throat.

“Kira!” The color drains from Poe’s face and he steps towards her, only to freeze when one of the men holding her wraps his hand in her hair and tugs her head back – exposing more of her neck to their weapon. “Let her go,” Poe commands, dropping his sword and raising both hands above his head, “Your quarrel is with me.”

Hondo gets back on his feet, brushing the dirt from his knees and sweeping his hair away from his face, and stares at her for a few long, uncomfortable moments before finally nodding. “Release her.”

He must be the one in charge, because her captors immediately do as they’re told. Lowering the dagger and pushing her back towards Poe - hard enough that Rey stumbles a bit before righting herself and straightening her spine.

They might be thugs and thieves and vicious men, but she’ll be damned if she lets them intimidate her.

“I insist you return my things at once, and since you deprive me of my escort, I demand a new horse as well.”

A few of the men mutter annoyances, others protest, and most of them laugh, clearly amused by her attempt to make demands of men who would probably kill her without remorse if she so much as looked at them wrong. But Rey stands her ground, staring them down and clenching her hands into fists so that they can’t see them shaking.

“M’lady,” Hondo half-laughs, half-mocks her, grandstanding for his men and pretending to bow while gesturing to the forest around them, “You may have anything you can carry.”

Her first thought is Rose’s dress. She can’t leave without it and she doesn’t like the way some of the men are looking at her in her undergarments, even though there are more layers to them today than she normally wears and she’s still quite modestly covered. It doesn’t bear thinking about what they might try to do to her if she doesn’t escape.

But then her eyes land on Poe where he stands watching her. His face solemn and his mouth grim. Fear and concern radiating from him in waves. Not for himself, that much she can tell, but for her. _For her_.

She can’t leave him. She won’t.

An idea pops into her head. Just stupid enough it might actually work.

“May I have your word on that, sir?” She cocks her head expectantly at Hondo, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands while waiting for his reply.

As the seconds pass and he doesn’t say anything she worries that he’s caught onto her plan, but eventually he just nods. “On my honor as a thief, whatever you can carry.”

Ignoring the inherent paradox in that statement, Rey marches over to Poe, grabs one arm and one leg, crouches down in front of him, and lifts him onto her back – turning just enough to bow sarcastically to the thieves before clumsily walking away.

Laughter erupts behind them, even more than there was before, and even Poe starts to laugh where he’s draped across her back – surprised and amazed.

“Wait!” Hondo calls out, still laughing. “Come back! Come back.”

“I think you can put me down now.” Poe grunts, his tone laced with a smile, but Rey shakes her head and continues stumbling through the forest.

“It might be a trick. We have to get out of here.”

“I don’t think it is, and we can’t go on much further like this.”

She hates to admit it, but he’s right. Her legs are already beginning to buckle as it is, there’s no way she could get him all the way back to the castle.

Rey sets him down, the two of them nearly toppling over in the attempt, and both turn at the sound of footsteps marching towards them.

“You’re a clever one.” Hondo smirks, his accent thick, his face weathered and tanned from a lifetime spent outdoors. He stands almost a head taller than her, and Rey has to tilt her head back to look at him. “My name is Hondo Ohnaka and these are my men.”

“Do you always attack innocent pedestrians, Hondo Ohnaka?”

“Ooh, feisty, too. I like that. No,” He chuckles, gesturing to Poe with his thumb, “This one here was a special case. He knocked one of my men off a cliff a few days ago.”

Rey whips her head around to stare at Poe, who looks affronted.

“I didn’t knock him off, he fell. I made sure he was okay! Besides, you were robbing Master Skywalker.”

Hondo makes a tsking sound with his tongue, dismissing Poe’s excuse with a wave of his hand. “Nobility deserve to be robbed. They have everything and share nothing, leaving the rest of us to starve. It is a punishment of their own making.”

“It’s illegal,” Poe states, and a few of Hondo’s men hiss and boo.

“And who makes the laws, hm?” Hondo retorts. “The system is designed only to benefit the few. Something I’m sure you know all about, Prince Dameron.”

Poe’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, sharing a nervous look with her before turning back to Hondo. “How do you know who I am?”

“Please.” Hondo clicks his tongue, clasping his arms behind his back and giving Poe the once over. “I am no fool. The fabric your clothes are made from is a special kind only shipped and delivered to the royal family. That,” He taps his chin, “And I knew your mother.”

Poe’s whole demeanor changes. No longer does he try to appear cold and aloof, but instead leans forward, his voice barely containing his shock and excitement. “You knew my mother? How? When?”

“Long ago I served under her in the war. She was a good woman.” The corner of Hondo’s mouth quirks up and he tilts his head back, lost in a memory.

“And yet you tried to murder her son,” Rey cuts in. He might not be quite as villainous as she’d first assumed (and maybe, secretly, she agrees with some of the theories behind his arguments, if not their execution), but that still doesn’t excuse his behavior.

“Murder?” Hondo chuckles and his men join in, making her suddenly feel small. “I wasn’t going to kill him. Why would I do that when a ransom would be much more profitable?”

“It wouldn’t be profitable when my father sent the royal guard to kill you. He doesn’t negotiate with thieves.”

Hondo laughs outright. “I’d like to see them try. Nevertheless, I will not kidnap you today, son of Shara Bey.”

“You won’t?”

“No.” He shakes his head and gestures at Rey. “Thanks to the actions of your friend here. She amuses me. Come with us back to our camp. We’ll show you what real hospitality looks like.”

“Oh, no, I must be getting back home.” Rey says, glancing back at the sky. The sun is even lower now. It will be time to prepare supper soon and if she isn’t back for that the Baroness will definitely notice.

But she can’t exactly explain that to Poe, and she doesn’t think Hondo or his men would care either way, so she has no choice but to agree when he says, “Nonsense. The sun is already beginning to set – you must both be starving. Dine with us and after I shall give you a horse. One that isn’t lame. And direct you back to the castle.”

With no idea what to expect, their only option is to follow him.

****

Hondo’s camp turns out to be more of a small settlement. It’s located deep in the forest, far away from any roads or farms, and the canopy overhead is so thick that the stars beginning to shine in the indigo sky can barely peek through. The scent of damp moss and pine-needles permeates the air, and Rey shivers with the distinct feeling of stepping into another world. One lost to the passage of time or the winds of change.

There’s a collection of tents and lean-tos packed in pell-mell in concentric circles around a central fire pit where a bonfire is already blazing. Women are moving to and fro stoking the fire, preparing the evening meal, and watching after the children – of which there are many. At least two dozen or more ranging from newborns to teenagers.

The men in Hondo’s crew, once appearing so aggressive and hostile, relax in the safety of their home. Abandoning their weapons and running forward to greet their wives and children with open affection and joy.

“I didn’t expect this,” Poe murmurs under his breath, giving voice to Rey’s own thoughts.

“What? Surely you didn’t think only the wealthy got married and had families, did you?” Hondo laughs clapping Poe hard enough on the shoulder that he stumbles forward a few feet.

“Of course not,” Poe retorts, “I just didn’t think _thieves_ did those things.”

Rather than take offense, Hondo simply shrugs. “You need to let go of how you see the world, boy. Between that black and white you live in is a whole range of grey.” He hands Poe’s sword to one of his men, nodding for him to take it away, then smirks when he catches both of them staring at the retreating figure with increasing anxiety. “You’re in no danger from us tonight, but you don’t survive out here this long by being stupid, either. Come,” Hondo marches towards the bonfire, motioning for them to follow him, “My wife, Aurra, will serve you some dinner and then we shall sing and dance.”

They’re given some sort of thick beef stew made with chunks of unrecognizable vegetables along with healthy helpings of ale, and Rey can’t help but laugh at the face Poe pulls when he holds the spoon up to his nose for a sniff – obviously wary.

Aurra, a tall woman who looked deadlier than her husband, had sent them with their meals to sit on one of the logs opposite the fire, and Rey’s grateful for the protection it provides against the chill of the nighttime air. Hondo had given her back her dress, but only after Poe had agreed to trade his doublet for it - leaving him only a loose cotton shirt for protection – and she’s grateful they have the fire to keep them warm.

“Just try it!” She grins and nudges him with her elbow. 

Never one to turn down food, her own mouth is already full, and she’s surprised to find that the stew is actually delicious. Whatever spices they’d used on the meat have elevated its natural flavor, and she digs in for another hearty bite.

“Are you sure it’s not poisoned?” He peers over her shoulder, poking at her stew with his spoon and turning over what Rey’s pretty sure used to be a chunk of potato. “What’s that?”

“Quit it!” She laughs, knocking his hand away. “Why would they bring us all the way here just to poison us?”

“Some nefarious plot. Maybe they want to extract state secrets. We’ll be torture buddies.”

“Torture buddies?” She raises her eyebrow, fixing him with a look, and Poe shrugs.

“Yeah. They poison us with the stew and then while we slowly die, they interrogate us.”

“If we’re already dying what’s the motivation to get us to tell them what they want?” Rey takes another bite, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling when Poe looks unimpressed.

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Then come up with a better theory. In the meantime –“ She scoops up another serving of stew and shoves it in her mouth, taunting him with her defiance, and he groans.

“Fine, fine. But if we die, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

He fills his spoon, holding both it and the bowl up for her to see, and then takes a bite – and Rey can’t help the giggles that erupt out of her at the sight of pure bliss on his face. His eyes roll back into his head and a moan rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest and she feels a stirring of something low in her stomach that has nothing to do with dinner when he exhales with a smile.

“I take it back. This is worth dying for.”

“Looks like I’m right again.” She hides her grin behind her mug of ale, and Poe laughs.

Satisfied that he isn’t about to be the victim of devious ulterior motives, he digs into his bowl with gusto, and Rey does the same. The two of them eating in comfortable silence while the rest of the camp chatters happily, their conversations interspersed with the merry sound of children’s laughter and the occasional bawdy joke from one of the men.

He watches the people around them with avid interest, periodically smiling at something one of the children does or a comment he overhears, and while he watches them, Rey watches him. Taking advantage of the opportunity to observe him without interruption.

Only yesterday morning she’d steadfastly convinced herself that he wasn’t a good person, but now she knows how wrong she was. He is the very definition of good. Thoughtful, kind, caring, protective. Obviously a devoted friend and a loving son. She’d misjudged him – accused him of prejudice while being blinded by her own. He isn’t who she thought he was, and while maybe he does have a lot to learn, so does she.

He laughs at another joke and she memorizes the way it changes his face. He’s handsome, no doubt, she’ll freely admit that now, but there’s something so warm about the way he smiles when he’s enjoying himself – a honeyed hue that has nothing to do with the firelight or his naturally tan skin, but seems to radiate from within. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and the way they narrow until they’re almost shut. How he leans forward just slightly, reacting with his whole body, placing one of his hands over his chest.

She never wants to look away.

“What are you staring at? Is there something on my face?” His question shakes her from her reverie, and Rey blushes at having been caught.

“No, I –“ She drops her eyes, unable to hold his gaze, and catches sight of the ring he wears dangling from the chain around his neck, its simple silver band glinting in the light of the bonfire. “I was wondering about your ring.”

“Oh,” He smiles softly, wrapping his hand around it and squeezing tight before lifting the chain over his head and handing it to her, “It was my mother’s.”

Rey handles it gently, mindful of the fact that he’s just given her what is probably his most precious heirloom, turning it over and examining the simple, yet skillful design.

“It’s not the kind of jewelry people usually expect a queen to have,” Poe explains, “But my mother believed that wedding rings shouldn’t be about ornate embellishment or the fanciest jewels, they should be made to endure. Simple, but strong. Unbreakable. Like the love she had for my father.”

“I like that,” Rey whispers, stroking the band with her thumb, “A symbol of enduring love. It’s very romantic.”

She hands it back to him and Poe puts it back on, adjusting the ring so that it’s resting exactly where he wants it. “She, uh, she gave it to me just before she died. She told me that someday I’d be ready to give it to the right partner.”

He reaches for his ale, and Rey mirrors him. Swallowing the lukewarm liquid with difficulty. What kind of woman will eventually capture his heart? A princess, no doubt, or someone else of equal birth and nobility. Someone beautiful and fair and ladylike who will make him laugh without antagonizing him every other second.

Envy grows around her heart like a vine, and she drinks more of the ale than she normally would. Desperate to chase away the melancholy that’s descended over her at the thought of Poe falling in love with somebody else.

“I think it’s your turn to answer a question now.” Poe sets his empty mug and bowl down on the ground and shifts so that his knee bumps against hers, and she stares at that point of contact for a long time before finally registering his words.

“What?”

“Your turn,” He repeats, “Since I answered yours about my ring. I want to know something about you. Something nobody else knows.”

“I’m not that interesting.”

“That’s a lie, not a secret.” He winks, bumping her shoulder with his own, and Rey blushes and ducks her head.

She tries to think of something innocuous and light. Something he might find entertaining. “I used to pretend to be the knight Chewbacca when I was a child. I never dared tell Finn that’s who I was playing as because I knew he’d tease me, but all I wanted to be when I grew up was a knight like him. He was legendary.”

Poe laughs, just like she’d hoped he would, and Rey brightens knowing that special smile is because of her this time. She’s the one who put it there.

“I knew Chewbacca – not very well – but he was best friends with Leia’s first husband. He had this barking laugh you could hear from anywhere in the castle and every time he shook my hand I thought he’d tear my arm off.” He smiles at the memory and Rey tries to process this information.

What would it be like to grow up in such a different environment? Where knights aren’t the stuff of legends but living breathing men who you get to talk to and befriend. She can hardly imagine it.

“I’m trying to picture you as a little girl running around with a sword and helmet.” Poe leans back to get a better look at her, and she self-consciously tucks her hair behind her ears. “I bet you were adorable.”

“Covered in dirt and mud, more like,” She jokes, “My father was always complaining about the state of my dresses.”

“Well, you clean up well. I’m sure he’d be proud of the beautiful woman you’ve become.” Poe smiles at her, his eyes tender and his expression fond, and Rey flushes at the compliment.

“It’s your turn again.” She drops her hands to her lap, picking at invisible threads in the fabric, and her heart nearly stops when Poe covers one of them with his own – turning her hand over so that he can trace the lines across her palm with his index finger.

She shivers at the contact, heat racing up her arm and goosebumps breaking out all across her skin. His touch is light, gentle, and yet its as if all of her senses have narrowed down to that one spot.

“I have no desire to be king.”

The admission shocks her out of her stupor, and a tiny gasp escapes her mouth – drawing his gaze away from her hand and back to her face. “Oh, but think of all the wonderful things you could do. For your country and your people.”

“Yes,” He concedes, lacing his fingers with hers and holding her hand in her lap, “But to be defined by your position. To never be seen as who you are, but what you are. You have no idea how insufferable that is.”

_To be seen as what, not who you are?_ Rey thinks of the Baroness, of Paige, of the countless others who look down on her and mistreat her, or outright ignore her, because of her status, and she scoffs. “You might be surprised.”

“Really?” Poe looks at her curiously, and she scrambles to come up with a better basis for her argument than _I am secretly a servant in the home that was once my father’s_.

Hondo laughs from his spot on the other side of the fire, sloppily singing a drinking song with his men, and Rey gestures towards the group. “A thief is rarely painted as anything else. They are as defined by their status as you, yet it is not all they are. You have been born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations.”

Poe huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “The queen told me something similar just this week.”

Oh great. He’s comparing her to his stepmother. She may not have any experience with romance, but Rey knows enough to know that being compared to someone’s parent is never a good sign. She really needs to stop trying to lecture him. “I’m sorry.” She winces. “My mouth has run away with me again.”

“No,” He squeezes her hand reassuringly, “It’s your mouth that has me hypnotized.” His eyes drop to her lips, his gaze heavy, and there seems to be static in the air that wasn’t there a moment ago. It crackles and snaps with an energy Rey’s never felt before, and her heart starts to beat faster.

_Is he going to -?_

Poe leans forward, wetting his lips before dragging his eyes back to hers, and she’s shocked by how dark they’ve become. A thrill shoots down her spine at the idea he might be so affected by her. By _her_.

“Can I kiss you?”

Rey squeaks in surprise, but finds herself nodding almost without conscious thought. She wants him to kiss her. Wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything else. And when he leans forward she snaps her eyes shut in eager anticipation.

The kiss doesn’t come immediately though. She can feel his breath against her face, his nose bumping against hers, but instead of his lips its his free hand she feels first – his palm gently cupping her jaw, his fingers stroking her skin and making more goosebumps appear on the back of her neck.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I met you.” He gives her no time to process his words, their implications too overwhelming, before his lips finally press against her own and clear all thoughts from her head.

His mouth is soft, sweet, and one kiss quickly becomes two and then three. Each one growing in confidence. And she’s drowning. Drowning in pleasure and shock and happiness. Her mind struggling and failing to catch up to each new feeling he’s eliciting from her body.

He’s still holding one of her hands in her lap, but she brings the other one up with the intention of finding out for herself if his dark curls are as soft as she imagines them to be, only to have the spell broken by taunts and whistling from everyone around them.

Rey pulls away, embarrassed at having been caught, but the feeling is fleeting when she sees Poe’s expression. He’s looking at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, his face full of wonder, and when he smiles and smooths down a few of her stray locks of hair she can’t help but beam back at him.

“You,” Hondo rudely interrupts, his accent even thicker now that he’s been drinking, and kicks Poe’s boot, “It’s your turn to contribute a song. Make yourself useful.” He whistles and gestures for one of his men to bring over the lute he’d been playing – taking it out of his friend’s hands and giving it to Poe.

“You want me to play?”

“Mhmm,” Hondo grunts, dropping down on the log beside them, “And sing. Something we haven’t heard. My wife loves music, but I don’t have the voice for it.”

Poe glances at her and Rey smiles encouragingly, keenly aware of the stares of everyone around them. For a few precious moments she’d forgotten they weren’t alone, but now it’s obvious that everyone else had been enjoying themselves and drinking and dancing while she’d sat there oblivious – hypnotized by the man seated next to her.

“Do you know how to play?” She asks, watching while he expertly checks the instrument’s tuning – silently providing the answer to her question.

Poe nods anyway, clearing his throat. “My grandfather taught me.”

He starts to pluck the strings, his fingers moving over them with practiced ease, playing a pretty tune that sounds vaguely familiar, and Rey’s eyes drift closed when he begins to sing.

His voice is husky and low, but beautiful, and he sings with an earnestness that washes over her and makes her feel somehow equally comforted and flustered. A kind of restless heat spreading down the back of her neck and through her limbs that she doesn’t know what to do with.

The song’s subject matter isn’t one she’s familiar with, and she listens closely to the words. Biting her bottom lip when she realizes it’s about a king who falls in love with a beautiful young beggar woman. Struck by love at first sight, he asks her to be his wife, and together they live a happy life and are much loved by their people.

Poe finishes the last verse, explaining that they die in each other’s arms and end up buried in the same tomb, and when the last note hangs in the air everyone erupts into applause.

Everyone, that is, except Rey, who for some inexplicable reason has started to cry. Tears streaming down her cheeks that she hurries to wipe away before Poe notices.

_If only such a thing were possible._

He hands the lute to back to Hondo, who starts playing the popular song _Little Miss_ so that his friends can start dancing again, and then turns back towards her – finding her hand again and bringing it up to his mouth to give it a kiss. “What did you think?”

“It was beautiful,” Rey nods, praying her tears didn’t leave any evidence behind, “You have a lovely singing voice.”

“Thank you.” Poe smiles, then impulsively presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Enough of that!” Hondo barks, “Get up and dance.”

With a laugh, Poe stands up and leads her over to where the rest of the dancers have gathered. Far enough away from the fire that they won’t get burned, but close enough to still feel its heat and for the light to dance across their bodies. The way they move is magical, with no apparent rules for who dances with whom or how many partners one can have a time or what steps to take. Everyone simply follows wherever the music guides them, and Rey loses herself in it.

This. _This_ is freedom.

They dance for what feels like hours, until the moon is high in the sky and the fire has been reduced to glowing embers, until she’s practically falling asleep on her feet and Poe has to hold her up – the two of them swaying from side to side in the growing dark.

“We can make room in one of the tents for you, if you’d like to stay the night.” Hondo swallows the last of the ale in one long gulp, wiping off his lips with the back of his hand. “It would be private, of course.”

That wakes her up, and her eyes must be as round as saucers because Hondo starts laughing at her.

_Surely he can’t be implying –_

“Oh, um,” Poe glances at her and then shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, “No, thank you. That wouldn’t – we aren’t – I have to get Kira home.”

“A horse then,” Hondo says, still chuckling, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “As promised. My man Turk over there will help you. Go get the animal while I say goodbye to the lovely Kira.” He points to a man with a yellow and red bandana tied around his forehead and Poe nods and walks away to speak to him.

“Thank you, Hondo.” Rey tears her gaze away from Poe’s retreating form and looks up at the man she’d thought was going to kill her only a few hours ago who now she could almost consider a friend. It’s funny how life constantly surprises you. “Tonight has been,” She smiles, touching her lips with her fingertips, “Heavenly.”

Expecting a sarcastic or teasing reply, she’s stunned when instead his voice is low and gruff, his expression solemn. “I know who you are, Rey Kenobi,” He says, and Rey’s heart stutters before doubling its speed, beating so hard she can feel it thundering against her sternum, “I’ve had dealings in the past with both your father and that old farmer, Cody. I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s illegal to dress above your station.”

Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, Rey attempts to laugh – although the sound she makes is something closer to choking. “I thought you didn’t care about the law.”

“I don’t.” He shrugs, then places his hand on her shoulder. “But I like you, and so I feel it’s my duty to warn you. You might think you’re not at risk because he cares for you, but these people can’t be trusted. He will turn on you when he finds out.”

“You’re wrong. Poe couldn’t… he wouldn’t,” She argues, vigorously shaking her head back and forth, but she sounds doubtful, even to herself, and she can’t deny the creeping voice in the back of her head that tells her Hondo is right. That Poe would never have looked at her twice if he knew who she really was.

Hondo raises his eyebrow and the hand on her shoulder runs down to her elbow where he gives her a squeeze. “He will. Prepare yourself, because the moment will come, and he will do as nobility always does – look after himself first. It’s a pity,” He smiles, releasing her, “I should have liked to see someone like you on the throne.”

Poe returns, walking up to them with the new horse in tow and a guide rope tying Star on behind. “Ready to go?”

Unable to look at him, Rey mutely nods and allows him to lift her onto the saddle. Today has been a dream, but now it seems the dream must come to an end.

As luck would have it, even though they’d taken the wrong path, they weren’t as far from home as they’d thought. But it’s still well after midnight by the time they reach the manor. She’s never stayed up this late before, and Rey covers her mouth to hide what must be her hundredth yawn, feeling Poe’s chest rise as his own yawn follows soon after.

At first she’d tried to keep the proper distance from him for the ride home, her thoughts plagued by Hondo’s parting words, but she’d quickly given up. She’s exhausted and he’d whispered in her ear that it was alright if she fell asleep – he’d keep her upright – and so she’d spent most of the journey snuggled against him and struggling to maintain consciousness.

“Right here please.” She yawns again. “I don’t want to wake anybody up.”

They’ve stopped at the property gate, which means there’s a fair bit to walk yet before she’ll reach the door to the kitchen where she can slip in unnoticed, but it would be too risky to let him drop her off any closer than this.

“Alright,” Poe murmurs, swinging his leg over the saddle and dropping to the ground before reaching up and placing both of his hands on her waist to help her down. “You saved my life, you know, back there in the woods.”

They’re standing toe to toe, so close that she could count each one of his dark eyelashes by the light of the moon if she wanted, and his thumbs rub circles into her hips where he’s neglected to release her.

“A girl does what she can, sire.” Her voice comes out raspy and thick with sleep, and Poe presses his forehead to hers, breathing deeply.

“Poe,” He gently reminds her, and she smiles. 

“Poe.”

She’s more prepared this time, and when his mouth presses against hers she rises up to meet him – following his lead and returning his kisses with equal enthusiasm. Gasping when his tongue strokes her bottom lip and nearly whimpering when he uses the opportunity to slip it in alongside hers. She never knew people could kiss like this, but Poe seems to be an expert.

He cups her face with both of his hands, tilting her head to get a better angle, and Rey finally, _finally_ , is able to bury her fingers in his hair – delighted to find that it is as soft as it looks. She runs her hands through it, accidentally scratching her nails along the base of his neck, and Poe shudders and lets out a deep moan.

One of his hands trails down her spine before pulling her in closer so that there’s no longer any space left between their bodies, and she grips his shoulders for support, the open collar of his undershirt allowing her to trace along the bare skin of his collarbone with her thumbs. His skin is hot, despite the cool night air, and he tears his mouth away from hers so that they can both catch their breath.

“Kira,” He pants, his chest heaving against hers, and it feels so wonderful and new that Rey can’t resist tilting her chin up and stealing another kiss – opening her mouth to him much quicker this time – ignoring the ice in her veins threatening to douse this new flame that comes from hearing him whisper her fake name. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He presses his forehead against hers again, his eyes wide and hopeful, and Rey sighs.

She can’t. _They can’t_. This lie can’t be allowed to continue. He’s supposed to marry someone else and rule the country and she – she’s supposed to scrub the manor floors tomorrow and take down the tapestries for cleaning.

“I don’t know…”

“Please.” He gives her a lingering kiss, and despite the rational side of her brain screaming that this is a bad idea, she’s helpless to resist him.

“Alright. I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hondo Ohnaka is another character from the Clone Wars who I really like and I felt like he fit perfectly here. :) 
> 
> The song Poe sings is a real song/ballad the predates the Renaissance and is referenced by Shakespeare and others called "The King and the Beggar-maid." You can read more about it here if you're interested: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_King_and_the_Beggar-maid and also listen to the tune he sings it to here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBeKdPFro5Q ("I Often for my Jenny Strove")


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe finds his purpose, gets to know Finn a bit better, and spends the afternoon with Kira.

****

“And just where were you last night?” His father looks up from the letter he’d been reading when Poe enters the room, keeping a sharp eye on him as he crosses over to the table and drops into one of the ornate chairs.

Ignoring his father’s question, he takes a quiet moment to massage the back of his head. There’s been a steady throb there ever since he woke up, a constant reminder that the ale he’d had the night before was far stronger than the usual fare served at the castle, but Poe smiles through it. Nothing can dampen his spirits this morning. Not a hangover, not his father’s suspicious stare, and not the fact that he’s probably going to be in a world of trouble for disappearing.

Again.

None of it matters because Kira _kissed_ him last night. A thought that has his insides doing somersaults while his heart beats out a samba. And not just any kiss – no – but the best kiss of his life. The whole evening had been like something straight out of a fairytale and he can hardly keep from grinning at everyone and everything he sees.

“Mijo,” Kes presses, folding up the letter and leaning his elbows on the table, “What happened?”

Adopting his best innocent voice, Poe shrugs and says, “Didn’t Snap tell you? One of the horses went lame and I had to walk back with her. It took longer than expected.”

“Hmph.” His father’s dark eyes stay fixed on his face, searching, Poe’s sure, for whatever secret he must be hiding, but Poe simply continues to blink at him, carefully keeping his face neutral. “Next time you decide to visit those monks,” Kes finally continues, “Pick a better time than the middle of church service.”

He probably knows, or strongly suspects, that Poe isn’t telling the whole truth, but for now he seems to be willing to let it go. Something Poe is grateful for. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell his father everything – he’s practically bursting at the seams with the secret – but there’s telling Kes the man, and then there’s telling Kes the King. And where Poe’s love life is concerned the King would definitely want to get involved and that would only complicate things.

But someday, soon, he’ll be ready to go to his father to get his royal blessing. If his relationship with Kira keeps progressing the way he hopes it is, that day might even be tomorrow.

“How was your visit to the monastery, Poe? Temmin seemed like he enjoyed it.” Leia gestures for a servant to pour him a glass of water and serve him a bowl of porridge, and the way her mouth quirks up when she catches him rubbing his head again suggests she knows about the hangover. Probably thinks it came from having too much beer with the monks like Snap.

“It was great, yeah.” He takes a bite of the porridge, grimacing at the taste but swallowing all the same. He’d learned the hard way years ago that alcohol and an empty stomach don’t mix. “Inspiring.”

“Inspiring?” The servant refills Leia’s own water glass, and she smiles and offers him thanks before taking another bite of her favorite buttered cinnamon toast. It’s the one spice she swears she can’t live without, and Poe wonders sometimes if the spice runners on their eastern border were legitimatized and allowed to continue operating simply because of that.

“Yeah.” He swallows another mouthful of porridge, gripping the spoon as he works up the nerve to tell them what he’d been lying in bed thinking about all night when he couldn’t sleep. “I actually had an idea this morning that I hope you both will like.”

“Well, let’s hear it,” Kes gestures for him to continue when Poe goes quiet, a hint of a smile on his cheeks.

Poe clears his throat and sets the spoon back in the bowl, leaning forward onto his elbows and taking a deep breath. “I want to build a university. With the largest library on the continent. Where anyone can study no matter their station or age or sex. A place where everyone can come together to learn and be educated.”

The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Across the table Poe can see the servants trading curious glances, and he wants to tell them that yes – his proposal includes them too – but he doesn’t want to make any promises before he hears what his father has to say.

Kes and Leia both stare at him, dumbfounded, and for one heart-stopping moment he thinks they’re going to say no, but then they both break out in proud smiles.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Poe.” Leia reaches across the table and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers and nodding.

“I do too, mijo.” His father reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, patting him firmly on the back and grinning. “What brought this on?”

“When I was at the monastery yesterday there was…” _The most amazing woman_. “There were other people there. People who don’t normally get the chance to look at so many books. And their enthusiasm opened my eyes to the injustice of a society that prevents its population from educating itself based on class. People shouldn’t be condemned to ignorance because of birth or money.”

Both Kes and Leia are truly beaming at him now, and Poe turns back to his porridge to avoid making eye contact with either of them. His neck burning at having made such an impassioned speech over the breakfast table. Kira must be rubbing off on him.

“’Condemned to ignorance.’” Kes leans back in his chair, whistling loudly. “Who are you and what have you done with my son?” He laughs along with his gentle teasing, and Poe laughs too.

“I guess I’m finally growing up.”

His father’s smile fades, taking on a mournful twist, and his eyes soften as he looks at Poe. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

Reaching for his necklace, Poe swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and jerks his head almost imperceptibly. “Thank you, Papá.”

A moment passes between them and for a brief second it’s almost as if Shara Bey is in the room with them, giving them both that coy smile of hers before saying something clever or teasing, and a sense of longing so intense passes through Poe that he has to take a deep breath to steady himself.

“You’ve found your purpose, Poe.” Leia’s voice draws him back to the present, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she takes his hand again. “I knew you would.”

“Took me long enough.” He huffs. Other men probably would have been much better at this than he is. Wouldn’t have taken twenty-seven years to make themselves useful as anything more than a soldier and decent huntsman. As excited about this new project as he is, he can’t deny that part of him is ashamed it took him this long to come up with an idea.

“That doesn’t matter.” Kes shakes his head, as if reading his son’s thoughts. “What matters is you have found something to care about, and it’s an excellent idea. We’ll assemble a team of experts to get started this week, if you want.”

“I’m sure Luke will want to be involved as well,” Leia hums, the gears in her head already turning, “We might actually be able to convince him to stay for a while.”

The thought had occurred to him, too, and Poe relishes the prospect of spending more time talking to and learning from Master Luke before he disappears off on another one of his adventures. “I’d like that. And I was thinking we could refurbish the temple ruins near Coruscant. They wouldn’t take too much money to fix up and it’s a central location and not too far from here.” 

“I agree.” Kes strokes his brown and silver goatee, tapping his index finger against his chin. “I’ll bring the issue up with the privy council in our meeting this morning, but I don’t think anyone will protest repurposing that land. It’s sat vacant for years. Speaking of,” He glances at the large clock hanging on the far wall and pushes away from the table, “I must run before the Duke of Scipio tries to commandeer my meeting. Again. Those bankers think they own everything.”

Kes walks around the table, first to give Leia a parting peck on the lips, then around the other side to press an affectionate kiss to the top of Poe’s head, squeezing his shoulder as he does. “I’m very proud, mijo, very proud.”

Poe watches his father leave, and its as if a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders that he didn’t know he was carrying. His father’s opinion has always been important to him, but somewhere during his teenage years he’s lost sight of that. Chafing underneath the weight of expectation and rebelling against the life he’d been given and the responsibility that came with it.

Now, now he can stand tall in his father’s presence again.

“So,” Leia fixes him with a look as soon as their alone, her brown eyes twinkling with a new kind of mischief that Poe’s not entirely sure he’s comfortable with coming from his stepmother, “Would I be correct in assuming this person at the monastery yesterday was a certain Countess whom you’ve become so taken with?”

He chokes on his porridge. “What?!”

“Poe, please,” She smirks, “I may be old, but I’m not that old, and I’m still a woman. I can read the look on your face as clear as day – you’re in love.”

Far out in the southern desert there are stories of a thick black sand that can suck you under in a matter of seconds. The stories used to terrify him as a boy, but now Poe thinks that would be infinitely preferable to this line of questioning.

What he wouldn’t give to be swallowed up whole.

“I’m not – I – uh – that is...” Leia simply continues to stare at him, every inch of her face reflecting her silent laughter, while he’s left stumbling awkwardly over his words, heat spreading from his neck to his ears. “She may have been there, yes.”

She hums a little too knowingly. “So she likes to read?”

“Likes is putting it mildly.” Poe laughs, thinking of how Kira had struggled all afternoon to match her eagerness to touch with her reverence for the books. “I’ve never met anyone so passionate about books before. It’s almost overwhelming. It made me realize that not everyone had the privilege I did of growing up with tutors and a whole world of knowledge at their fingertips. Other people deserve the chance to learn, if they want to.”

“I like her already.” Leia jerks her head firmly, finishing the last few bites of her toast, and Poe presses his lips together to hide his smile. Then, just as he’s beginning to relax, she looks up at him over her cup and asks, “Are you going to propose?” 

He chokes over his water this time, liquid spilling down his chin and onto his shirt, and he wipes it away with a towel while spluttering. “I’ve only known her for a few days.”

Sure, he’d thought about it last night sitting in the warmth of the bonfire, her body pressed against his side and the taste of her kiss fresh on his lips. Then again while lying in bed unable to sleep, his thoughts alternating back and forth between her and his idea for the university – wondering if she’d approve of his plan, and, more importantly, if she’d want to help him see it through. But even with the threat of his father’s ultimatum hanging over his head, it all still seems so fast.

He thinks back to his conversation with Luke by the river. To the idea of soulmates and fate and true love. Surely it can’t be this simple, can it?

“And?” Leia gently prompts. “Sometimes a few days is all it takes. Especially when you only _have_ a few days.”

“I’m not sure she’d say yes.”

“But you want her to.”

It’s crazy, but… “I think so.” He touches the ring under his shirt, thinking of how Kira had looked last night smiling at him in the firelight, the shadows dancing across her face and highlighting her dimples. “Yes.”

Leia stands up and comes around the table to hug him, bending over and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m happy for you, Poe. This is everything Shara Bey and your father and I hoped for you.”

Overwhelmed by an outpouring of love for his stepmother, Poe barely manages a wordless nod. It’s a strange feeling, to be so grateful for one person’s role in your life while longing for someone else at the same time, and he’s not sure he always gets the balance quite right – especially when he was a teenager and the pain of loss was more raw – but on days like today he’s acutely aware of how lucky he is to have Leia as a mother figure. 

“Are you going to see her again today?” She releases him and Poe takes a moment to collect himself, eating a few more bites of porridge and drinking the rest of his water.

“If I can. I was thinking I’d invite her out for a picnic, but it all depends on if those grey clouds I saw to the west get any closer and if she can get away from her cousins.”

She takes her seat again and, after a moment’s hesitation, serves herself another piece of toast, making Poe smile to himself. “Do they not approve? Who are they?”

“It’s the Baroness Tico.”

They both pull matching faces and then break out in matching laughter. No other explanation needed. It’s no secret within the court that the Baroness has her own idea of who should marry the prince, and even though she isn’t the only mother vying for her daughter’s success, she has developed a certain reputation for ruthlessness.

“I see why that might be an issue,” Leia sighs, shaking her head, “She’s very determined for her eldest daughter to make a good match.”

“I think she would try to ban Kira from seeing me if she knew.”

“Perhaps I’ll have my dressmaker send her a note about coming in for a fitting for the ball today. I’m sure she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.” She gestures for one of the servants to bring her a piece of paper and a quill and pushes her plate to the side so that she has room on the table to write.

“You’d do that for me?” He should have known Leia would be sympathetic to his cause. She did make an unlikely match herself, after all. Luke had said she and Han were soulmates, perhaps she believes in that, too.

She smiles sadly at him, and Poe’s struck by the depth of love and grief in her eyes. “Of course I would. A mother will do anything for her children.”

Her attention returns to the letter, but Poe’s stays fixed on her, and not for the first time he wonders what happened between her and Han and her son. How could a boy with Leia for a mother turn out so dark? Shun his family so completely that he hasn’t seen them for almost a decade?

His memories of Ben Solo – _no_ – he’s Sir Kylo Ren, now – are fuzzy. He remembers hearing about him changing his name and title. Remembers how Leia had locked herself in her chambers and cried. Remembers wondering why the dark-haired boy he’d been friends with as a kid didn’t show up to his own mother’s wedding.

He wants to knock some sense into him. Punch him repeatedly until he marches up to Leia with his tail between his legs and apologizes. But he knows that isn’t what she would want.

“I should also warn you that Baroness Tico and her daughters will be joining me for breakfast tomorrow morning.” Leia looks up at him with a grimace. “Paige found a necklace of mine yesterday at the cathedral that I’d dropped and returned it to me, I felt the least I could do was invite them to the castle for a visit.”

“Are you sure she didn’t steal the necklace first?” He grumbles sarcastically. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Poe,” Leia says sharply, her voice blunt, “That’s unkind. Please try to remember that while we may not like someone on a personal level, that’s very different from making accusations against them. Never be to eager to pass judgment.”

“I’m sorry,” He replies, adequately chastised. It probably wouldn’t be very diplomatic if the crown prince was heard making those kinds of accusations against a courtier. Especially unfounded ones. He’ll have to learn to be better about keeping those thoughts to himself when he becomes king.

“Think of it this way,” She smiles, her voice softening, “It will be a good opportunity for me to do a little digging about the Countess and her situation. Maybe I can try to bring the Baroness around to the idea of her cousin marrying the prince instead of her daughter.”

Well… when she puts it that way.

“So I have your permission to go see Kira then?” He’s already halfway out of his chair by the time he finishes asking the question, thinking about what kinds of food he should take for their picnic and how to coordinate meeting with her in secret.

“Would you listen if I said no?” Leia laughs, folding the letter and sealing it before handing it to the servant to be delivered.

“… Probably not,” He answers honestly, grinning when she merely shakes her head in exasperation, “But if I can avoid having the royal guard interrupt our lunch, then that would be nice.”

“Yes, you have my permission. As long as you promise to behave yourself! Take a chaperone!” She calls after him, and Poe rolls his eyes where she can’t see.

Sure. He’ll take a chaperone. One that’s about as tall as his knee and covered in orange and white fur.

“Will do!”

****

As nice as it was of Leia to concoct a plan for distracted the Ticos, Poe still doesn’t want to risk being seen waltzing up to the front door of the old Kenobi manor. Their house is a good ways off the road, but there’s still a chance someone might recognize him – either a neighbor or a servant – and tell the Baroness and he has a feeling Kira wants that even less than he does. Which means he needs another plan. A way to get her out of the house without raising suspicion.

Which is why, after packing up his saddle bags full of food and a bottle of champagne and retrieving Beebee from where he’d been playing with the cat in the garden (a skittish stray they’d named Deeo that likes the scraps of meat the kitchen staff leave outside for it and spending time with his rambunctious dog), he’d headed off to Master Phasma’s art school.

If anyone can help him, it’ll be Kira’s best friend.

(Or so he hopes.)

The studio is located at the edge of town, a two-story stone building with large windows and a turret on one side. To any unsuspecting passerby it would appear quite charming, but Poe’s heard stories about Master Phasma. A woman whose brilliance is matched only by her austerity. He doesn’t envy her students, even if her art school does produce some of the finest work and dedicated artists in the country.

“Stay here, Beebee,” Poe commands, making sure his faithful companion is sitting firmly on his haunches before tying up Black One to the hitching post and heading towards the large wooden front door half-hidden underneath encroaching vines. An art studio is no place for a dog, especially when he’s here to ask for a favor.

Straightening his shirt and doing a quick check to make sure his hair isn’t too wild from his ride over here, Poe knocks on the door and is surprised when Master Phasma opens it herself a few seconds later – expecting a servant or student or, if luck had been on his side, even Finn.

“Prince Dameron?” Her eyebrows raise infinitesimally, but if she’s shocked to see him she doesn’t show it, her pale face and icy blue eyes remaining impassive. “To what do we owe this great honor?”

_Damn._ The woman towers over him, and Poe has to practically crane his neck to see her. No wonder she has such an intimidating reputation. If he didn’t know who she was he’d expect her to be a general or a champion knight. Perhaps the best in the land.

“Good morning, Master Phasma, I was hoping I could speak with one of your students – Finn.” Poe slips his fingers into his belt, attempting to appear casual and unruffled by her, and Master Phasma’s eyebrows raise just a hair higher.

“Finn? You mean student FN-2187?” She steps aside to give him room to enter, shutting the door behind him and gesturing for him head into the large central room.

It’s well-lit, as he’d expected, but other than a few canvasses on the walls the decorations and furniture are sparse. There isn’t even a carpet to soften the sounds echoing off the cold stone walls, and Poe shivers despite the summer breeze drifting in through the open windows. 

“What?” He turns to face her, cocking his head. Had she just called Finn a _number?_

“I give my students designations when they arrive. I find that it helps them remember their place and refrain from growing overly familiar with me or each other. This isn’t a public house.”

He thinks she’s trying to smile, but it’s a poor facsimile of one. The corner of her mouth twitching downwards more than anything.

What kind of awful place is this? Some of her students start as young as twelve. How traumatizing to be stripped of their identity and given a number and forbidden from forming relationships. When he’d joked with Kira about sending Finn his condolences, he’d had no idea her friend was living in a place like this.

“If it pleases your highness, FN-2187 is in the garden – this way.” Master Phasma walks away without waiting to see if Poe is following her, leaving him no choice but to obey.

The garden turns out to be more of a courtyard with a few patches of greenery growing here and there than anything else, but that doesn’t seem to stop the few students he sees with their easels from painting lush Edens on their canvasses. Their imaginations making up for what their subject matter lacks. And Poe makes a mental note to order a painting from each student, if only to bring them some modicum of joy in this gloomy place.

On the far end of the courtyard stands the man Poe came to see, although instead of a canvas he’s sitting in front of a small table working on sculpting something out of clay. _A woman_ , Poe thinks, although he can’t tell who.

“FN-2187, the Prince is here to see you.” Master Phasma’s voice is severe, and Finn jumps to attention before she’s finished speaking, moving from sitting to standing faster than Poe can blink.

When he sees Poe, his mouth drops open and the tool he’d been holding between his teeth clatters comically against the cobblestones. There’s clay coating his hands and fingers, and he hastily tries to wipe off the excess on his apron without success. 

“Your highness…” He bends forward at the waist, doing an awkward bow that reminds Poe of Kira and nearly makes him laugh. “You’re here. At the art school. Here.”

“Stop embarrassing yourself, boy.” Master Phasma barks, roughly pulling Finn upright.

“Master Phasma,” Poe interrupts before she can get going, sensing a string of rebukes if he doesn’t cut her off, adopting his most honeyed, enticing tone, “Perhaps I could speak to Finn privately for a moment?”

Her lips purse together like she’d just swallowed a lemon, but she nods anyway, unable to refuse a request from her sovereign. “Of course, sire.” 

He waits until she’s gone, watching her closely until she’s disappeared around the corner and gone back inside, and then turns to face Finn.

The other man is visibly more relaxed now that they're alone, an audible sigh leaving his body, and Poe finds his own muscles relaxing as well. Barely five minutes in her presence and Phasma had him tenser than a herd of wild boars – how anyone can learn in this environment, he doesn’t understand.

“How can I help you, sire?” Finn tries to bow again, but Poe reaches out and stops him.

“Enough of that, you don’t need to. I’m here because I was hoping I could get your help with something.”

“My help, sire?” Finn bends down to retrieve his sculpting tool and sets it on the table, dipping his hands in a nearby bucket of water and wiping the rest of the clay off on a towel.

From this distance Poe can get a better look at his half-finished project. It’s definitely a woman. A girl with bangs, a broad nose, and a strong jaw. There’s something very... familiar about her. “That’s really well done. Is it supposed to be anyone in particular?”

“Uh…” Finn licks his lips, glancing down at his sculpture and moving as if to hide it from Poe's view, and then it dawns on him.

“Wait –“ Poe leans in closer, confirming his suspicions. “Isn’t that Rose Tico?”

Finn’s head whips around to make sure none of the other students are close enough to overhear, and if he could Poe suspects he’d be turning beet red right now. “Look, don’t tell Re-ally anyone about this – especially Kira. Please.” His voice is low, urgent, and Poe smirks even though he’s completely floored by this unexpected revelation.

“You like Rose?”

“Kind of,” Finn hedges, leaning away and folding his arms over his chest, “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll bet.” Poe chuckles, taking a second look at the sculpture and noting all the small details Finn has captured perfectly. He really is quite talented. Maybe he’ll commission him to do a painting of Kira someday. 

“Kira is my best friend,” Finn explains slowly, “Rose is her st – her cousin, and their relationship is… complicated. It’s just awkward.”

“I understand.” Poe claps him on the shoulder. “You know, I thought for a minute yesterday that you and Kira were,” He gestures vaguely, letting the silence speak for itself, and then it’s Finn’s turn to smirk, “I was pretty relieved when she told me you were just friends.”

“I’ll bet,” Finn grins, and Poe wishes he knew how much Kira has told him about their relationship.

Does she ever talk about him?

Does he stand a chance?

“Yeah,” Poe awkwardly clears his throat, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, “Well, I just didn’t want to do or say anything disrespectful, you know?” 

“I’m sure.” Finn laughs, but then grow serious, observing Poe and giving him the once-over. “You know, Prince Dameron, Kira is more than my best friend – she’s the only family I have. I’d do anything for her, even things that could be considered treasonous, if she got hurt. And I don’t just mean physically.”

His first instinct is to laugh. To play it off as a joke between friends. But they aren’t friends, yet, and he can tell that this isn’t a joke. Finn is deadly serious, and it’s clear his feelings for Kira, however platonic, run deep.

“I understand.” Poe nods, equally solemn, and Finn lifts an eyebrow.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then can you honestly promise me that your intentions towards her are pure? That this isn’t some, I don’t know,” He waves his hand around out to the side, shrugging with one shoulder, “Casual fling before your big wedding? She’s got a pretty tough shell, but on the inside she’s just as vulnerable as anyone else, maybe even more.”

Poe lifts his hands by the side of his head, trying to convey that he means no harm. “I swear to you, Finn, the way I feel about her is far from casual.”

Finn stares at him for another minute. Long enough that Poe starts to feel sweat collecting on the back of his neck and under his arms. Scrutinizing him like he’s a half-finished painting and he’s trying to decide whether he’s worth keeping or should be thrown out.

Finally he jerks his head, sticking out his hand. “Good. Then what can I help you with?”

Poe accepts the handshake with a relieved smile. “I’d like to take her on a picnic today, but I don’t really want to –“

“Deal with the Baroness,” Finn finishes, immediately understanding, “I get it.”

“Exactly. Do you think you could go to the manor and tell Kira where to meet me? I thought it would be a lot less suspicious coming from you.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, although sometimes the Baroness can be pretty strict about her leaving during the day, if she gets in one of her moods.” He undoes the apron ties around his waist, then lifts it over his head, laying the splotched, multi-colored fabric over the back of his chair.

There’s a strange sort of tick in Finn’s eyebrows every time he mentions the Baroness, as if his natural reaction is to scowl and he has to keep the urge in check, and Poe wishes he had more time to ask him about it. About how long he’s known the Ticos, how often Kira comes to visit, and if she’s happy here, but the sooner he can meet up with her, the longer he’ll have with her before she has to return home. His questions will have to wait.

“My stepmother, the queen, sent the Baroness an invitation to be fitted for dresses today for the ball,” Poe explains, “She and her daughters should be leaving the manor soon.”

Finn nods, gesturing for Poe to head back towards the front door and falling into step beside him. “That’s good thinking. Where should I tell her to meet you?”

“Do you know the large pasture at the edge of Endor Forest?”

“Yeah, we know the place. She’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

They spot Master Phasma in the hallway with another student and Finn grabs his arm and stops him from stepping into their path, holding a finger to his lips and gesturing for Poe to stay still until they’ve passed. “It’s easier to leave if she doesn’t know I’m doing it.”

Once the threat is gone they slip quietly through the front door, and Poe isn’t the least bit surprised to find Beebee sniffing around the base of the house – probably trying to find a second entrance – laughing and dropping to one knee when the dog catches sight of him and bounds over to be by his side.

“So how long have you wanted to be an artist?” He squints up at Finn, petting Beebee’s side and scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s none of my business, but this doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of place someone would willingly choose to live.”

He stands back up and heads towards Black One, untying the horse’s reins and giving him a gentle rub on his forehead, and Finn sighs and shrugs. 

“My whole life, I guess, but it was really more of a foolish daydream than anything else. I was actually slated for military service – there aren’t many other options available to orphans – but when I was seventeen a man named Hux happened to see one of my drawings and he recommended me to Master Phasma for an apprenticeship. I’ve been here ever since.”

“And are you happy here? Do you enjoy it?”

“I’m…” Finn shifts his weight back and forth between his feet, tugging his earlobe and glancing back at the house. “Happy not to be a soldier. And Master Phasma is one of the best, I’m very fortunate to be able to learn from her, even if she can be...”

“Intimidating?” Poe finishes, the two men chuckling humorlessly, and Finn shrugs again.

“Yeah. She’s a real stickler for the rules.”

An idea pops into Poe’s head, and he knows in exactly the same second it appears that it’s a good one. “You know, Master Skywalker is staying with us at the castle for a time. He’s the queen’s brother, I’m sure I could get you an introduction.”

Finn freezes, his hand halfway on its way to petting Beebee, his knees bent in an awkward squat. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely!” Poe claps him on the shoulder with a grin, laughing when Beebee expresses his distaste for being ignored by repeatedly bumping into Finn’s legs.

“Are you trying to bribe me so that I’ll help you with Re - romancing Kira?” Finn narrows his eyes, folding his arms over his chest and taking a wider stance. “Because I already said yes.”

Poe’s smile falls. Does he _think_ he’s trying to bribe him? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Not at all!”

Finn glares daggers at him for a moment longer, before relaxing and breaking out into a wide smile. “I’m just messing with you, man. I would be really grateful if you could introduce me. Even just to meet him would be an honor.”

“So,” He exhales deeply, “It’s settled then?”

Finn nods. “Go on. I’ll head over to the manor and send her to you.”

“Thank you, Finn.” Seriously, he doesn’t know what he would have done if Finn hadn’t agreed to help, and not only that, but it’s reassuring to have his blessing as well. If her best friend isn’t trying to dissuade him from going, that must mean he has a chance.

Stepping into the stirrup, Poe swings his leg over Black One and settles into the saddle, gathering the reins in his hands and whistling for Beebee’s attention.

“Anytime. Just…” Finn pauses, patting Black One’s neck while contemplating his next words, finally settling on, “Be good to her, okay?”

His request is simple, but earnest, and Poe can tell there’s a seriousness behind it that runs deep.

“I will.” He answers solemnly. “I promise.”

****

“Here, try the Cabrales.” Poe cuts her off a slice of one of the cheese wedges he’d brought, its trademark blueish-green hue making it stand out noticeably against its counterparts. “It’s got a more sharp, tangy flavor than the others.”

“It’s blue.” Kira eyes the cheese curiously, tentatively accepting the cracker he’d put it on and holding it up to her nose for closer inspection. “I’ve never seen blue cheese before.”

“It’s made in the region my mother is from. They let it age for up to six months, which is how it gets its color.” He cuts off a decent sized slice for himself, eating half of it in one bite without bothering with a cracker. He _loves_ Cabrales – it reminds him of his childhood. Summers like this one spent going on picnics with his mother and grandfather. Although back then he would have been drinking lemonade or orange juice, not champagne.

He takes a sip of the liquid in his glass, the bubbles hitting the back of his throat and tickling his nose. Normally, he prefers a good beer or maybe a whiskey, but on a warm summer’s day like this – white clouds scattered across a cerulean sky, a gentle breeze in the air, and cool grass underneath him – something light and sweet is just perfect.

Especially with his current company.

Watching Kira try the champagne for the first time had been an experience and it almost made him burst out laughing. She’d held the glass like it was easily breakable, barely pinching the stem with her fingertips, and lifted it up to the light – fascinated by the light-gold color – before taking the barest hint of a sip. The way she’d squeaked in surprise when the fizz hit her lips, so incongruous with her usual voice and behavior, had been adorable.

He’d thought it had just been her enthusiasm for books and philosophy that made her so alluring – her passion for reading so blatant and infectious – but he’s beginning to discover that it’s just Kira herself, the way she moves about the world as if everything is new and worth discovering, that draws him in. He wants to travel the world with her, just to watch her hazel eyes light up time and time again with each new experience.

Kira takes a bite of the Cabrales, chewing slowly to absorb all the flavors and closing her eyes so that she can focus on each bite, and Poe watches as her lips gradually spread into a smile. “It’s good,” She mumbles, her mouth still half-full, “I like it.”

“Good. I think you’ll like this one, too.” He eagerly cuts her off a sample of a different wedge, pairing it with a thin slice of meat on top of a cracker. “It’s called Ibores. It comes from goat milk.”

There’s no hesitation this time, and she hums happily the second the new cheese touches her tongue. “What is that? It’s been flavored, right?”

“Yep,” Poe smiles, handing her the knife when it’s obvious she wants to eat more of it, “They rub olive oil and sweet paprika on the outside.”

“It’s delicious. Thank you.” She picks out a few of the wild strawberries, treasures she’d found on her walk from the manor and presented to him upon arrival with a proud grin, and pops them into her mouth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you a more substantial spread.” He gestures to the blanket between them. It’s covered in various cheeses, crackers, thin slices of meat, and fruit. Enough for a hearty snack, but not nearly the grand meal he’d imagined earlier that morning. Before he realized he’d have to transport everything in two small saddlebags.

He plucks a few grapes off their vine, tossing them into the air and catching them in his mouth with practiced ease. Smiling privately to himself when he catches Kira looking impressed out of the corner of his eye. His father would be mortified, but he’s pretty proud of the skill he and Snap had spent a whole month cultivating when they were twelve.

"Are you kidding?” She reaches out for his hand, briefly disturbing Beebee’s head where it rests lazily on her lap, and gives his fingers a tight squeeze. “This is amazing. I love trying new things and I so rarely get the opportunity to do so. What you’ve brought is perfect.”

“Good.” He lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it, and she offers him a sweet smile in return. “I have something I wanted to tell you.”

“Hm?” She twists her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and then starts stroking Beebee’s fur, rewarding him with a scratch behind the ears when his tail thumps happily against the ground.

“I’ve decided to create a university.” Her hand stills and her head shoots up, her eyes locking with his, and Poe strokes his thumb alongside hers – more to comfort himself than anything. He desperately wants her approval. “I spoke to my parents about it this morning. We’re going to build it near Coruscant and anyone who wants to learn will be allowed in.”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, her throat working as she tries to formulate words, until finally she croaks, “Anyone?”

Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and Poe scoots closer so that he can lift his free hand to her face and wipe them away – gently trailing his fingers along her jaw. “Yeah,” He nods, “ _Anyone_. Rich, poor, man, woman, adult, child. No one will be turned away.”

“Oh, Poe!” She flings herself at him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck, and Poe gladly returns her embrace. Chuckling when he catches Beebee looking annoyed over her shoulder. The poor animal had been half-asleep a moment ago, and now his master has robbed him of his pillow.

(He feels no remorse.) 

“So you like the idea, then?” He curls his hand around some of her long hair, moving it away from his face. She’d left it down again today, only doing a simple braid across the top of her head to keep it held back, and for that he’s grateful. It’s highly unusual in a courtier, but he likes the way it looks on her. Her head bobs up and down against his chest. “Good.” He breathes a sigh of relief, forcing the muscles in his back to relax.

“You have no idea,” She pulls away so that she can look at him, and Poe almost sighs audibly at the loss of her before slamming his mouth shut, “No idea how much this is going to mean to so many people. People like m-Maurice, who never even dared to dream of something so wonderful.”

“You were right, Kira, when you said I was arrogant and short-sighted.” She opens her mouth to argue, but he stops her. “No, you were. I didn’t understand before, but I do now. A country is nothing if its lowest people suffer.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before her lips smash against his, and it takes a second for his brain to catch up before he has the wherewithal to kiss her back – cupping her cheek and tilting her head to get a better angle so that he can deepen the kiss.

She’s inexperienced, but what she lacks in knowledge she makes up for in enthusiasm, employing the tricks he’d taught her the night before and nibbling at his bottom lip, and soon Poe is the one left gasping for air – his chest heaving as he presses his forehead against hers.

“What was that for?” He asks breathlessly, a pleasant shiver running down his spine when she plays with his curls again – brushing them away from his forehead before tangling her fingers at the base of his neck.

“I just… wanted to show you how grateful I am. After my father died books were the only things that made me feel less alone.”

Poe lifts his other hand to her face, stroking both of her cheeks with his thumbs before leaning forward to place a tender kiss on her lips. “Our enemies win by making us think we’re alone, but we’re not alone. People care about you, Kira. Your father, Finn, your servants, me.” He gulps nervously before taking the plunge. “You are loved.”

The smile she gives him is tremulous, but radiates joy, and, ignoring every lesson about propriety and decorum he’s ever learned, he shoves the picnic blanket and its contents towards their feet and gathers her up into his arms for another passionate kiss.

Her lips are soft. Soft and sweet and with a lingering hint of champagne and strawberries. And he chases the flavor with his tongue, but it isn’t enough. Despite his best efforts, it’s awkward trying to kiss while sitting side by side. She keeps shifting to get comfortable and he can’t quite seem to twist his body to match hers the way either of them wants.

That is, until she shifts underneath him, pulling him down after her, and the warning bells go off in Poe’s head – clanging loudly and echoing between his ears.

_You shouldn’t be doing this_ , a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Leia warns, but then she tilts her head back to catch her breath, giving him the perfect angle to pepper kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck, and he is lost.

Kira moans under his ministrations, clutching at his shoulders and whimpering when he sucks a mark into the sensitive spot right beneath her ear, and when he runs his lips down to her collarbone she lets out these breathless giggles that shoot straight to his groin.

_Too fast! Too fast!_

With a herculean amount of effort, Poe pulls away, propping himself up on his elbow to try and regain some form of higher thinking and give his blood a chance to relocate back to his brain. An effort that isn’t helped when Kira gently scratches his scruff with her fingernails – smiling to herself as if pleased by her new discovery – and he realizes he’d left a trail of red skin in his wake.

“Sorry about that,” He murmurs, dipping his head to press an apologetic kiss underneath her jaw, and she hums.

“Don’t be. I like it.”

God, she’s going to be the death of him. With an admission like that, he has to kiss her again, and it’s quite a few minutes later before Beebee manages to interrupt them – nudging Poe’s head repeatedly with his nose and whining at the lack of attention.

(Maybe bringing him along as a chaperone had been a bad idea after all.)

“Come on.” He manages to stand up, tugging Kira after him with both hands and smiling bashfully when she has to take a minute to straighten her dress, running her fingers through the tangles in her long hair that he hadn’t realized he’d caused. “We’d better entertain him before he takes off chasing squirrels or something.”

“Alright,” She replies happily, takes his hand and lacing her fingers with his without hesitation this time, and Poe presses his lips together to hide his satisfaction, “Lead the way.”

They meander across the large field, throwing sticks for Beebee to chase and enjoying the sun and the sounds of the birds singing happily in the trees and the comfortable silence that settles over them. It’s peaceful and serene, and if someone were to tell him that he’d died that morning and this was heaven, he’d be inclined to believe them.

What paradise could be more glorious than this?

Greedy for attention, Beebee runs circles around their feet until Kira finally takes pity on the poor beast and, lifting her skirts out of the way, chases after him – laughter ringing out over the hills as she races his dog all the way to the stream, the two of them hitting the shallow water with a loud splash.

Poe jogs to catch up with them, and then nearly has the breath knocked out of his lungs when she turns to smile at his arrival.

She’s practically _glowing._ Dressed as she is in shades of pale yellow and cream and beaming at him so brightly. The urge to tell her he loves her swells inside him ( _too soon!)_ , and he has to force it back down by saying something else instead.

“You look like… sunshine. A ray of sunshine.”

She starts, nearly tripping over a rock and barely managing to catch herself before he has to jump in and intervene, and when she looks back up at him instead of a smile or a blush he finds her mouth twisted into a frown – her eyebrows scrunched together. “What did you say?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he repeats himself, uncertain. “You look like a ray of sunshine. Is that… are you mad?” He pauses, wondering where he could have gone wrong in the last thirty seconds. “I thought it suited you.”

“Oh,” She visibly relaxes, shaking off whatever dark cloud had momentarily come over her, “No, that’s… really sweet, actually.”

“I only speak the truth, Sunshine.” He tests out the nickname, liking the way it rolls off his tongue, the soft S’s and the golden hues the word evokes perfectly encapsulating the feeling in his chest every time he thinks about Kira. And he especially likes the soft, shy smile she gives him in return.

He kicks off his boots and joins her and Beebee in the water. Relishing the cool temperature and flexing his toes in the sand. And the two of them quickly lose track of time as they talk and laugh and enjoy the day. Oblivious to everything besides each other. 

Eventually, church bells can be heard ringing far off in the distance, counting _one, two, three, four_ times before coming to a stop, and the color drains from Kira’s face.

“Is it four o’clock already?”

“Is it?” Poe laughs, “I guess so. I didn’t realize how long we’d been out here.” The lateness of the hour doesn’t bother him. His father’s meeting with the privy council likely only just ended, and Leia’s hardly going to send anyone out to search for him yet. As far as he’s concerned, they can stay until the stars are shining high in the sky – maybe talk about the constellations and the mythology behind them. Those are some of his favorite stories.

But it’s obvious Kira doesn’t feel as blasé about the passage of time as he does. She hurries out of the stream, anxiously checking the hem of her skirt to make sure it isn’t wet or streaked with mud. “I have to go home. I should have been back hours ago.”

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment, even as he hastily tugs his boots on and follows her back across the field.

“Yes.” She insists, and he can see her head bobbing up and down. “I have to go _now_.”

It occurs to him then that they aren’t heading in the direction of their picnic and Black One, but instead down the hill towards the direction of the manor, and Poe picks up his pace so that he can get in front of her – holding up his hands and forcing her to stop walking. “Then at least let me give you a ride.”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head, stepping around him. “Someone would see you.”

“Kira, wait.” He catches her hand, holding her in place. “I have something I want to talk to you about.” The ball is in two days, and at least in this one instance, he _does_ care about the time.

His heart is thundering inside his chest and his mouth goes dry – his tongue feeling thick and heavy as he tries to think of the right words to say. The magic turn of phrase or perfect declaration that will makes this easier. But nothing comes to him.

He’s never told anyone he’s in love with them before.

What if he screws it all up?

“I told you I only speak the truth, and I like to think that’s true. I value honesty and I don’t think I can go on any longer without telling you that I –“

“Poe,” She cuts him off, releasing her bottom lip from where it had been trapped between her teeth and shifting anxiously, “I have something I want to talk to you about, too. Something I should have told you days ago, and I don’t think it would be right for us to go on any longer until –“

“You’re right,” He nods. He’s getting ahead of himself. This magnificent, amazing woman deserves everything to be done properly. Not a rushed declaration of love and hasty proposal on a hillside. “This isn’t the time. You need to hurry home before the Baroness realizes you’re gone.”

“What?” She cocks her head, and Poe leans forward to press a kiss to the line that's appeared between her brows, smoothing it out with the touch of his lips.

“I want to do this properly. Do you know the ruins near Yavin?” It’s one of his favorite places in the world, and he can’t imagine a better setting for their conversation and, hopefully, for the next phase of his life – of their life together – to begin.

“Yes.” She nods her head, still looking confused, and Poe clasps both of her hands in his.

“Meet me there tomorrow morning. Just after dawn.”

“And we’ll talk?” She clarifies, sounding unsure. “About everything?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Okay.”

He kisses her then, because he can't say goodbye without it, smiling against her lips and trying to pour every ounce of what he’s feeling into his farewell.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll tell her everything. 

Tomorrow everything will change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey returns from the picnic with new determination, only to get in trouble. New developments arise with Rose. And the night takes a turn for the worse when Rey finds the Baroness and Paige in her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There is a brief scene of physical abuse at the end. The actual abuse isn't shown, just the part leading up to it and the aftermath.

****

Rey practically sprints across the fields and through the woods towards her house, her mouth still tingling with the memory of Poe’s last kiss. She must look like a fool, running clumsily in her borrowed yellow dress and grinning from ear to ear, but she doesn’t care. She has every reason to be happy today. He’d packed a lunch handpicked with items he’d thought she might like, kissed her like the sun and the stars began and ended with her lips, and, best of all, told her that he’s going to build a university.

A university! Full of books and knowledge and the opportunity for anyone – _anyone_ – to come and learn!

She’s so giddy she could almost shed her skin and fly with the starlings dancing merrily in the sky above.

_You are loved_. His murmured words, so earnest and sincere, echo in her mind. His eyes had been molten chocolate while he spoke, blazing with an emotion she doesn’t dare name, and even now she feels a flash of heat run up and down her limbs at the memory.

She’d thought, maybe, that right before she ran away he was going to tell her how he feels. He’d certainly been gearing up to say _something_ important. And in her heart she’d wanted to stay. To hear him say the words _I love you_. But then his real words had sunk in, shattering the daydream.

Honesty.

He said he wanted to be honest with her, and she knew then she had to stop him. How could she let him say those words to her, if indeed that’s what he was going to say, when it wouldn’t be _her_ he was saying them to?

It wouldn’t be right.

Rey comes to a stop by her favorite old oak tree at the edge of her father’s property and checks her surroundings, making sure there’s no one in sight before retrieving her work dress from where she’d balled it up and hidden it in the branches. Quickly removing each piece of Rose’s dress, she folds it up neatly and puts on her regular clothes – making sure everything looks normal and is cinched correctly. 

Another check to make sure she’s still alone, and Rey emerges from the woods, gathering a few wildflowers as she goes to give to Louise and Paulette. She owes them so much more for all the help they’ve been, stealing Rose’s dresses and returning them without getting caught, covering for her should anyone inquire about her whereabouts, but for now it’s the best she can do.

The kitchen is already bustling with activity by the time she arrives, Paulette at the fire stirring the stew and Louise buttering the rolls, and Rey puts the bouquet in a jar of water and slips the yellow dress into the laundry basket before rolling up her sleeves and getting to work gathering the dishes and cutlery to set the table upstairs.

“About time you returned,” Louise chastises with a smirk, “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to send Maurice out after you.”

“I lost track of the time.” Rey ducks her head to hide her blush as she retrieves a bottle of wine from the pantry, ignoring the snickering going on behind her.

“Sounds to me like someone thinks the prince is handsome and charming after all.” Paulette hefts the pot of stew from the fire and sets it on the table, lifting the ladle to taste its contents and nodding in satisfaction. “Perhaps he isn’t so insufferable?”

“No one spends this much time with a person they find insufferable,” Louise answers before Rey has a chance to defend herself, sharing a wink with Paulette that makes Rey feel distinctly ten years younger than she is. “I remember those early days with Maurice. Sneaking off to the haystacks at the end of the harvest, spending hours whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, sharing secret kisses.” She sighs longingly, and Rey wants to curl up and hide forever.

“We do not whisper sweet nothings,” She grumbles, setting the dishes on the tray, and both women throw their heads back and laugh in unison.

“Oh, child.” Paulette shakes her head, still chuckling, and Rey picks up the tray and pushes past them and their knowing looks. Marching up the stairs with as much dignity as she can muster.

As much as she loves the two older women, they just don’t understand. Everything was easy for Louise and Maurice. They were of the same class and their families worked on neighboring farms. It was only natural that they should become friends and fall in love and get married. Even if Rey did want to marry Poe, and he her in return, (which is highly unlikely) – the objections in their way are nearly insurmountable. Not to mention the fact that she has no idea how he’s going to react when she tells him her real name.

Unshakeable dread settles low in her stomach, making her feel nauseated and uncomfortable, and the residual good mood from her afternoon fades away.

The Baroness and her stepsisters are already in the dining room when she gets there, her stepmother pacing back and forth in front of the window while the other two argue over their embroidery cushions, and Rey does a quick curtsey before hurrying to set the table. Acutely aware of the large clock above the mantelpiece informing her that she’s twenty minutes behind schedule.

“Where have you been?” The Baroness sweeps across the room, straightening to her full height and glaring at Rey, and she smartly keeps her eyes fixed on the task in front of her.

Experience has taught that in moments like these showing any sign of defiance only leads to harsher punishments.

“I was out in the fields and lost track of time. I’m sorry.” She uncorks the wine, making sure to fill the Baroness’s glass extra full. With any luck it will make her drowsy and she’ll forget all about being angry.

“The fields, eh?” The Baroness folds her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to one foot, cocking her head. “That’s a lie because I sent Maurice to fetch you and you weren’t there. Tell me the truth, Rey.”

A quick glance tells her that Paige and Rose have dropped all pretense of sewing and now have their attentions fixed on her, and Rey gulps. _Do they know?_ “I was –“

“You were with that Finn, weren’t you?” The Baroness hisses before she can finish, and Rey sighs in relief. “I knew it. He’s always been a bad influence on you. I told your father when we first moved here that he needed to nip that friendship in the bud, but no – he insisted it would be good for you and now here we are. I should have followed my own advice.”

“I’m sorry, Stepmother.” Rey tries her best to sound contrite, biting her bottom lip and tugging on a loose thread on her sleeve, but all she feels is gratitude that her secret remains intact. “Master Phasma has him painting more landscapes lately and I find the process fascinating.”

It’s not a lie, she does like watching Finn work, and she finds she can use the excuse without feeling deceitful. Plus, as far as infractions go, dallying too long watching her friend paint is pretty minor compared to what she was really doing.

Paulette and Louise arrive with the meal, providing a nice distraction, and the Baroness pushes past Rey to take her seat at the head of the table, reaching for the wine the moment she sits down. “Well you had better not even think of going to bed until all your usual chores are done, do you understand?”

“Yes, Stepmother.” Rey bites back a groan, keeping her face neutral so as not to provoke further ire, even though she can feel the exhaustion already settling into her bones. She’ll be up half the night now, which will make it even harder to slip away at dawn. And she _must_ meet Poe tomorrow morning – she has to tell him the truth.

Her hands are stained with dirt by the time she reaches the last row of vegetables, her fingernails caked with mud and stray bits of green from the weeds she’s been tugging at all evening. It’s hard work, and she wipes the sweat from her brow – catching it before it can fall into her eyes and probably smearing dirt across her face in the process.

_If only the prince could see me now_ , she chuckles mirthlessly. He’d probably be horrified that the woman he’s spent the last two days with regularly spends her time elbow-deep in filth. The thought is sobering, and she tries unsuccessfully to ignore the way her stomach churns.

“Hey, peanut.” Finn hops over the stone fence that lines the garden, his familiar, paint-speckled boots the first thing she sees before kneeling back to look up at him properly, and he smiles and waves in a friendly greeting.

“Hi.” She offers him a small half-smile before getting back to work – only to have his hand reach the last patch of weeds before hers does.

“I thought you might be out here.” He tugs hard and the roots pull free, tossing the clump into her waste basket and brushing the dirt from his hands. “How was the afternoon?”

She kneels back again, wiping what she can off her hands and onto her apron and avoiding his curious gaze. Finn had teased her mercilessly before she’d left, as only could be expected. Delivering the prince’s message with no small amount of glee and repeatedly asking if she thought they’d need a chaperone.

(She’d told him he was being ridiculous, but she can still feel a slight tingling where Poe’s facial hair had rubbed against her neck, so in hindsight maybe he hadn’t been too far from the mark.)

But given everything that’s happened since she’s in no mood to endure more joking right now. Not when she has less than twelve hours to figure out what she’s going to say to Poe.

Climbing up off the ground, she retrieves the basket and starts walking towards the barn to dispose of the weeds and start night check on the horses. Unsurprised to hear Finn falling into step behind her.

“That bad, huh?” He asks, kicking a rock with his toe, and Rey watches as it bounces along the crowd and ricochets off the stone fence up ahead. “Did you guys have a fight? …Again?” 

She almost laughs at the way he grits his teeth and raises the pitch of his voice. “No.”

“Hey, in the four days you’ve known him you’ve spent two of them arguing so…” He comes up beside her and bumps her shoulder with his own, and Rey sighs.

“I think…” She comes to a stop in the middle of the path, turning to face Finn but staring at the mismatched buttons on his shirt rather than his face. “I think he may have feelings for me.”

“I think so too, peanut,” Finn smiles, touching her elbow, “It seems pretty obvious to me. And Paulette. And Louise. And Maurice, although he told us today he wants nothing to do with it because in his head you’re still a little girl.”

Shooting him a glare, Rey bats his hand away. “Do the four of you just stand around gossiping about me all day?”

Undeterred by her obvious annoyance, Finn unapologetically grins. “When we’ve just watched you run off to have a secret rendezvous with the crown prince, yeah.”

“Well,” She huffs, blowing at a strand of hair stuck to her face a few times before finally brushing it back with her dirty hand, “You can all stop, because after tomorrow it will be over.”

That brings him up short, and the smile falls from his face – replaced by a crooked frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got to tell him the truth, Finn.” Rey turns away, wrapping her arm around her chest and holding onto the opposite elbow while staring up at the stars beginning to appear in the lavender sky – forcing her tears not to fall. “He thinks he’s falling in love with some amazing countess and it’s all my fault.”

“He’s falling in love with _you_ , Rey,” Finn insists, gripping both of her shoulders from behind and giving them a firm squeeze, “And why wouldn’t he?”

She whirls back around, clutching the front of her shabby dress and holding it away from her body as evidence. “Because I’m not that person!”

“But you are though.” He takes her hand, uncurling her fingers from around the fabric one by one. “Or are you telling me you were putting on an act when you put him in his place in front of the castle? Or argued by the river? Or spent the day talking about books at the monastery? Because I’ve seen you try play-acting before, peanut,” He winks, “You’re awful.”

“No, but –“

“That’s the woman he told me his feelings were, ‘far from casual,’ for, and whatever those feelings may be, they have nothing to do with your title.”

“But he never would have felt them if it weren’t for that title! He wouldn’t have looked at me twice if he knew the truth.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Look at me, Finn!” She throws her arms out to the side, stepping back so that he can see the whole picture. Desperately trying to make him understand. “I’m wearing a dress that should have been replaced three years ago, covered in dirt and mud, and I work as a servant.”

_I’m nobody_ , she silently tacks on, the voice in her head sounding distinctly like the Baroness. _I’m a nobody from nowhere. Why would he ever want such an ignominious connection when he could have a princess?_

“So?” Finn shakes his head at her, still not understanding. “It’s your mind he likes, and that doesn’t change no matter what you’re wearing. He seems like a good man. I don’t think he’d be so shallow as to reject you just because you need a bath.” He tries to lighten the mood with a joke, but she doesn’t feel like laughing.

Rey walks over to the stone wall and sits down on the edge of it. “I’ve let this go on far too long and now we’re both going to be hurt.”

“You don’t know what will happen, Rey,” Finn replies quietly, “He might surprise you. He promised me he’d be good to you, and I believe he meant it.”

“He promised he’d be good to Countess Kira de Kryze,” She corrects him, shrugging with one shoulder, “He never said anything about Rey Kenobi.”

Hondo’s ominous words still follow her like a shadow: _he will turn on you when he finds out._

“Hey,” Finn sits down beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side. He smells like oil paint and sweat and wool, and she tucks her face under his chin and breathes in the comforting scent of her childhood. “If he can’t see that everything he loves about Kira is right here inside Rey, then he’s a blind fool.”

“What’s in a name?” Rey quotes underneath her breath, the passage coming to her unbidden. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

He pokes her side, making her squirm. “What was that?”

“It’s from the book of poetry Poe gave me.” The book safely tucked away underneath her mattress. She only dares take it out when the rest of the house is sleeping, absorbing each word by the flickering light of her candle or the early morning sunbeams from the crack in her window, and that little segment from some play called _Romeo and Juliet_ had stood out to her this morning.

Did those characters struggle with the truth of their identities, too?

“Well maybe it’s a sign that everything will be okay.” Finn gently rubs her arm up and down, and she inhales a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m afraid, Finn.”

“Of what, peanut?”

“I…” She swallows around the lump in her throat, taking three more deep breaths before confessing, “I think I’m falling in love with him, too.”

In response he simply holds her tighter and kisses the top of her head. “Yeah, I think you are. But that’s okay, isn’t it? He seems like a good man, for all his difficulties.” He tickles her ribs again, and she finally laughs.

“He is a good man. But will he still want me when he knows I’ve lied?”

Finn hesitates, thinking it over. “There isn’t an ounce of artifice in your whole body, Rey. You lied because you had to to save Maurice. It wasn’t malicious. Could you have told the prince sooner? Maybe. But I think once you explain everything, he’ll understand why you didn’t.”

“I hope you’re right.”

It seems too good to be true, though, and despite Finn’s attempt to cheer her up and be reassuring, doubt still remains.

Without warning, Rose comes skipping around the corner, flushed and slightly out of breath and with an extra spring in her step that Rey’s never seen before – taking her completely by surprise.

“Oh!” Rose skids to a stop, her eyes going wide at the obviously unexpected sight of her stepsister. “Hello, Rey.”

“Hello.” Rey pushes away from Finn, sitting up straight and cocking her head. What possible reason could Rose have for being outside so late? She’s never shown any interest in the animals, and definitely never showed an interest in helping Rey with her chores before (there had been a few times, in those early years, when Rose had tried to help – but the Baroness had put a quick stop to that), yet here she is – watching them both like a trapped rabbit, Rose’s eyes darting back and forth between Rey and Finn as if –

_Oh_.

“Um… Hello, Lady Rose.” Finn awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, also glancing at Rey like he’s worried she’s going to start shouting, and the pieces fall into place.

The apple pie, the painting, the interest in each other that they’d tried to keep hidden. Finn didn’t come over tonight just to ask about the prince, he’d come over because he has a secret rendezvous of his own!

How long has this been going on?!

“Oh! You – she – together – right.” Rey abruptly stands up, brushing off her skirts and wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. Hoping that in the falling twilight the light is too dim for Rose to notice she’s been crying. “I’ll just –“ Go. She’ll just go and leave them to their conversation Or… or whatever it is they get up to in the barn when nobody knows.

(She will definitely be interrogating Finn about this later.)

“It’s not what you think!” Rose blurts out, shuffling from foot to foot and clenching her hands into fists. “Please don’t tell –“

“I don’t think anything.” Rey holds up her hand to silence Rose before she can start rambling, but she offers her a soft, understanding smile at the same time. She’s not mad, and she understands keeping secrets from the Baroness and Paige better than anyone. “You came out to see the horses, Finn came to… use the horses as a reference for his next painting. Right?”

Rose smiles, visibly relieved. “Exactly. Thank you, Rey.”

“No problem.” She tosses a playful glare over her shoulder at her best friend, arching her eyebrow to silently say _we will talk about this later_ and smirking when he looks appropriately contrite. “Goodnight, Finn.”

Rose skips past her and takes Finn’s hand, the two of them disappearing into the orange light of the barn, leaving her alone in the growing dark to make her way back to the house.

As she goes, she makes a mental list of all the tasks she has left before bed. Her outdoor chores are mostly finished, and what’s left can wait until the morning, but inside there’s still the kitchen to clean, dishes to soak, fireplaces to sweep – not to mention she’d meant to start on the floors today. Although what the Baroness doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She’ll save scrubbing the floors for tomorrow. Cleaning them is hard work, and it will provide a nice distraction from everything else.

Even without that on her list though, there’s still more than enough work to last the night, and at this point she’s not even sure it’ll be worth going to bed at all.

“Rey!” She almost jumps at the sound of Louise whisper-shouting out of one of the second-story windows, and she has to crane her neck to look up at her. “You’d better get in here quick!”

Louise frantically waves her arm, and there’s something about her expression that has Rey immediately sprinting into the house. Whatever it is that has her worried, it can’t be good.

She nearly crashes into Paulette on the staircase, and the older woman scrambles to grab her arm, her fingernails digging in through Rey’s sleeve. “You’d better go to your bedroom right away!”

“What’s going on?”

“The Baroness – Paige – the trunk!”

Rey stares at Paulette, uncomprehending, until she finally remembers. There’s only one trunk in her bedroom: an old, prettily engraved thing that had belonged to her adoptive mother Satine. Her father had moved it to the end of her bed after Satine passed away, smiling a sad smile and explaining that someday when she met the right man its contents would be her dowry.

But what could the Baroness want with that?

Paulette gives her a little push and Rey darts up the rest of the stairs, nearly tripping on the rug in the hall as she runs into her bedroom and practically slides to a halt. Only to nearly shatter at the sight in front of her.

The Baroness is holding up a beautiful, intricately embroidered, silvery dress in front of Paige, tilting her head from side to side as if already mentally making the alterations necessary to get it to fit her eldest daughter.

Satine’s dress.

Her _mother’s_ dress.

Rage like she’s never felt before swells inside her chest, moving through her body like fire – its flames licking at her nerves and making her see red. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Trying on my dress,” Paige replies as cool as a cucumber, jutting out her bottom lip and swaying from side to side so that the delicate dress flutters against her own heavy skirts.

“Now, Rey,” The Baroness waves a hand at her before bending over to retrieve the matching glass slippers from the trunk, “Don’t look so upset – you’ll get wrinkles. We’ve been searching and searching for the perfect gown for the ball and nothing has been up to our standards. This dress, however… _dated_ ,” She sticks up her nose, “Will be just the thing to make Paige stand out and catch Prince Dameron’s eye. Don’t you want your stepsister to make her match? Besides, it’s not as though you’ll ever have any use for it.”

“Do you honestly think these games, these intrigues are going to win you a crown?” Rey crosses the room, for once in her life unafraid of the consequences of speaking her mind. “To hunt royalty like some sport!? It’s disgusting!”

“You’re just jealous!” Paige shoots back, letting out that haughty, shrill sound she calls a laugh, and Rey rips the shoes out of the Baroness’s hand, glaring at both of them and almost wishing looks could kill.

“These are my mother’s!” She holds the shoes up by her head, as if by raising them high enough she can convey her meaning. That these things, _these things_ , are off limits. Even to them.

“Yes,” Paige slowly curls her lip in contempt, “And she’s dead.”

Something inside Rey snaps. The dam that’s spent the last decade holding her emotions in check crumbling under the cruel hammer of her stepsister’s heartless words. And Rey marches across the floor and promptly punches her in the face, sending Paige toppling backwards over the bed.

Both the Baroness and Paige scream, the latter struggling to escape from the layers of skirts and bedding that tumbled down over her, and Rey wastes no time chasing after her the second she’s standing back up.

“I’m going to rip your hair out!”

“Mother!” Paige shrieks, her stockinged feet slipping all over the floor as she tries to escape. “Mother do something!”

Rey follows after her, chasing her across the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. The satisfying sound of tearing fabric echoing off the stone walls when she grabs Paige’s sleeve and gives it a sharp tug to try and slow her down.

She nearly has her, although what she’s going to _do_ once she’s stopped Paige, she doesn’t know, when her stepsister suddenly changes course – darting around the side of the table and over to the open fireplace.

Rey realizes her intentions a second too late, watching in horror as Paige, a large bruise already forming around her left eye, picks up her father’s copy of _Utopia_ from where she’d left it on the chair a few nights ago and holds it out over the fire. “Get away from me or so help me god!”

“No!” Rey pleads, hardly noticing the Baroness, Maurice, Louise, Paulette, and Rose all spilling into the room – each of them increasingly aghast at the spectacle. “Paige, don’t! Put it down!”

“Give me the shoes!” Paige sticks out her hand, nodding to where the slippers dangle from Rey’s hand, and she lifts them to her chest – gripping them tighter and fiercely shaking her head.

“Put it down!”

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!_

“Consider carefully, Rey,” The Baroness speaks slowly, inching towards her, “Your father’s book, or your mother’s shoes? Though neither will save you from a sound lashing.”

That threat is nothing in the face of making such a difficult choice. How can she let _Paige_ of all people wear her mother’s things? The very idea makes her sick to her stomach. But then the memory of her father’s face pops into her head, his kind blue eyes, the white streaks in his auburn hair, the way he’d smiled as he told her, ‘it means paradise.’ How can she give up his last gift to her? To see it burn would be like an iron on her own flesh. A painful mark that would never heal.

Pressing her lips together to hide the lancing pain through her chest, she slowly hands the slippers over to the Baroness. 

Paige hurls the book into the fire anyway. Slamming it down with more force than necessary and sending orange embers bursting out over the stone hearth. A triumphant smile spreading wickedly across her face as the other servants and Rose cry out in shock.

“No! NO!” Rey lurches forward, intending to save what she can – even if it means burning her own fingers - but the Baroness catches her in a vise-like grip. Holding her back with surprising strength.

She’s forced to watch as the flames consume her beloved book, its pages curling inward before becoming black and crumbling away, and she breaks down sobbing. Eventually collapsing onto the floor. 

“Paige,” The Baroness commands, cool and detached, indifferent to Rey’s tears, “Fetch me the switch.” 

“Gladly,” Paige replies, and even over her sobs Rey can hear the twisted pleasure and anticipation in her stepsister’s voice.

Paulette steps forward in alarm. “Mistress, surely you can’t –“

“Paulette, if you wish to remain in my service, I suggest you refrain from telling me how I should or shouldn’t discipline my children.”

“But, Mother, surely burning the book is more than enough –“

“Be silent, Rose, unless you wish to meet the same fate. I do not abide violence in my house and Rey must be punished for raising her hand against your sister.”

Rey cracks her eyelids open just enough to see Paige hand the long thin stick over to her mother. The Baroness flicks it through the air once to test its weight and power, its biting whistle an ominous warning of what’s to come, and Rey shuts her eyes against the dreadful sight.

“Stand up and bend over.” There’s no room in the Baroness’s voice to argue, no tremor that might show weakness or hesitation, and so Rey does as she’s told. Resting her elbows on the table and bowing her head to hide her fear.

The other servants turn to go, and she doesn’t blame them. She doesn’t want them to witness this, either. But the Baroness, it seems, has other ideas.

“The three of you stay,” She barks, “Let this be a lesson to all of you that disobedience will not be tolerated.”

She tugs at the laces on the back of Rey’s dress, ripping them free and spreading apart the fabric until only the thin shift remains between Rey’s skin and the Baroness’s punishment, and then steps back.

There’s no one who can save her, nothing she can do to argue or plead her way out of this, and so Rey buries her face in her arms and waits for the first strike to land.

Rey hisses underneath her breath as Rose places another wet cloth over her back. She knows she’s trying to be as gentle as she can, but each time the damp fabric presses against her open wounds it stings. Her skin feels like its been cut with a hot knife, and she’s long since given up trying to hide her tears. Letting them fall freely into her pillow while Rose does her best to tend to her.

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmurs for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes, “Paulette swore this salve would be the best thing for you, but I didn’t know it would hurt so badly.”

“It’s alright,” Rey mumbles, scrunching her eyes against the pain when Rose covers another lash. As awful as it feels, she’s grateful for the help. There’s no way she could have managed this on her own. In the past when the Baroness has struck her its been on her hands and usually only one or two hits.

This – this is new.

She’d been shocked to wake up in the middle of the night to find Rose sneaking into her bedroom carrying supplies. After Maurice carried her from the kitchen to her bed, she’d passed out, only waking hours later lying on her stomach in a dark room to find the last person she’d expected to see walking towards her – whispering shy explanations and something about Paulette and herbs. Apparently, Rose thought that she was the person least likely to be in serious trouble if the Baroness caught her helping, and, well, she’s probably right. She’s not in any danger of being sold, at least.

“I’m so sorry, Rey.” She says gently, her voice soft in the dark room and full of remorse, and Rey manages to nod.

“Thank you.”

“Paige never should have done that. I don’t know what prompted the argument, but whatever it was didn’t justify burning your father’s book. I just –“ She huffs, fidgeting in her seat, “I just can’t believe she would do such a thing. I never would have thought her capable of it.”

“Me either.”

She should have hidden the book. Stuffed it under her mattress with the poetry and kept it far away from evil hands. But she’d grown lax over the years, assuming it was safe in the kitchen where no one ever ventured except for the servants. It’s a choice she’ll regret for the rest of her life.

Fresh tears stream down her cheeks as she tries desperately not to picture the burning book again, haunted by the image and feeling almost more pain from that than she does her back.

“You,” Rose hesitates, taking a minute to apply more salve to Rey’s back before continuing, “You must have loved your father a lot.”

Her tongue feels thick and heavy and emotions she hasn’t felt since those first few weeks after her father’s death rise to the surface, threatening to choke her. “Yes,” She manages to croak around the lump in her throat, “Yes, I did.”

Silence descends over them again, and for a while Rey thinks that’s the end. Attempting to get her feelings back under control while Rose finishes treating all of the lash marks and using the quiet to focus on her breathing. But then Rose inhales deeply and says, “That’s how we’ll win in the end, you know,” speaking so quietly Rey has to strain to hear her, “Not by fighting what we hate, but by fighting for what we love.”

We? She’s never thought of Rose as an ally before. Maybe briefly, when they were children, but mostly she viewed her as a nonthreatening member of the opposition. Not quite an enemy, but not a friend, either. Just someone who was _there_.

But the longer she thinks about it, about the way Rose has been repeatedly made to feel small, belittled, and demeaned, and dismissed. Perhaps she, too, has been in a cage all these years. Not the same as Rey’s, but full of its own kind of misery all the same.

“What is it you love, Rose?” She whispers back, turning her head so that she can see her stepsister out of the corner of her eye.

Rose’s blush is visible even in the dim lighting. “I think I love Finn.”

Rey can’t help her shock and she’s sure it must be written all over her face. She’d had no idea things were so serious between them. Quietly, she clears her throat and asks, “You think, or you know?”

“I know.” Rose nods to herself before tilting her head to tentatively smile at Rey, clearly looking for some sort of approval, and she’s surprised to find herself smiling back. Not as upset by this revelation as she might have expected herself to be.

“He’s a good man.” She’s pleased when Rose is quick to agree. “And I know you don’t really need it, but… you have my blessing.”

Rose’s hand finds hers on the mattress, clenching tightly around her fingers as she beams at her in the dark. “Thank you, Rey. Does this mean we can be friends now?”

“Do you want to be friends?” Rey asks in surprise, wincing when she twists to get a better look at Rose and huffing in defeat when Rose gently but firmly places her hand on her shoulder and holds her in place.

“Yes.” She fixes the cloths that had shifted out of place during Rey’s poor attempt at moving. “I want that very much.”

“Then yes,” Rey exhales a funny sort of laugh, and Rose joins in. “Friends it is.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey meet at the Yavin ruins and he confesses his feelings.

****

Poe steps through a stone archway, running the palm of his hand along the rough rocks and tracing the vines interwoven between them with his index finger. Though a semblance of the building’s former glory remains, today Yavin Castle stands in ruins. Its once fine walls and majestic rooms now buried underneath the encroaching greenery that has claimed dominion over it. Returning to the land what once belonged to the kings.

It used to be the favored retreat of his father, and his grandfather before that, but then the war came, claiming the magnificent castle as one of its first casualties, and all Poe has ever known of it is the crumbling stones and growing saplings sprouting where members of the nobility once walked.

And yet, there’s something beautiful in the ivy-covered decay. A reassuring reminder that new life can come from death and destruction. A visual display of hope that he’s always found comforting. Yavin Castle was where he came after his mother died, sitting among trees that now reach high over his head, but at the time were shorter than he was, seeking solace in the silence and solitude – surrounded by the scent of the lantana flowers (his mother’s favorite) blooming all around.

There are thousands of them now, coating the ruins in dappled patches of pink, lavender, red, yellow, orange, and white. Growing in clumps where the first rays of early dawn shine through the brightest. And Poe closes his eyes and breathes them in, holding the ring around his neck and giving it a squeeze before lifting it to his mouth and pressing his lips against the cool metal.

This, _this,_ is where he wants to propose to Kira. Here at the place that belongs only to him and is so strongly associated with his mother’s memory.

He’d nearly confessed his feelings yesterday, influenced by her happy smiles and the hot sun – a spur of the moment, impulsive urge he’d barely been able to contain – but he’s glad he didn’t. Instead he’d been able to go home and think about everything in a more calm and detached way, and the more time he’s had to think about it, the more he firmly believes that his feelings are true.

He’s in love with her.

Poe had laid awake half the night thinking about his conversation with Master Luke by the river, wondering if Kira is his soulmate or if he’s rushing into this way too fast, until finally he’d tossed off the bed covers and found the man himself stargazing up on the castle ramparts.

They’d talked for a long time, or rather, Poe had talked and Luke had listened while making notes about whatever it is he was observing through his elaborate telescope, until finally Luke had turned to him and simply said, “trust your feelings.”

It wasn’t the most profound piece of advice, or even objectively all that helpful, but Poe had instantly felt calmer, more assured of himself, and a certainty had settled over him that he’s never felt before. Fate brought Kira into his life for a reason. She’s smart, and passionate, and inspirational. She makes him want to be a better person, to try harder, and he likes who he is when he’s with her and who he’s becoming. But even more than that, he likes being the one to make her smile, and if he can spend the rest of his life doing that it will be a life well-lived.

Leaves rustle behind him and branches snap under light footsteps, and Poe spins around to see Kira emerging through one of the archways wearing an orange cloak the same shade as the dress he’d first met her in, her long hair hanging in loose waves – as if she hadn’t had time to do much more than brush it before coming to meet him. The sight of her looking so informal does something funny to his insides, tugging at a desire for domesticity he didn't know he possessed, and he smiles. If she says yes, he'll be allowed to see her like this every morning for the rest of their lives. 

“Hello.” Pulling on his brown doublet to make sure it looks neat and straight (he’d actually put in some effort towards his appearance that morning - too anxious to sleep and eager to impress her), he crosses the courtyard to greet her, taking both of her hands in his and helping her down the stone steps. There’s a hesitancy to the way she moves, a rigidity to her muscles, but he dismisses it as nerves.

He’s nervous too.

“Hello.” She inhales deeply, the corner of her mouth quirking up almost imperceptibly, the smile fading before it has a chance to properly form.

Poe leans in slowly, making sure she understands his intentions before pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, and Kira sighs against him, briefly relaxing before pulling herself away and dropping her gaze. Up close he can see the little details he’d initially missed, how pale her face is - tired and wan, her red-rimmed eyes, and worry begins to tug at his consciousness. “Are you well?”

“I fear that I am not myself this morning.” Her teeth find her bottom lip, and she releases one of her hands so that she can hold her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “I can’t stay long. Poe –“

“I don't feel like myself, either. I feel as though my skin is the only thing keeping me from going everywhere at once!” He laughs, running his free hand through the curls he’d spent forever taming only an hour ago, restless energy coursing through him bringing with it a sense of urgency. “Come, if we don’t have much time then I want to show you something.”

He guides her further into the ruined castle and up another half-crumbled staircase. Taking her elbow when she seems almost ready to faint at one point (a jarring contrast to her vibrant energy the day before, but perhaps she simply isn’t a morning person) and leading her over to the edge of the ramparts where the view is best. From here you can see for miles, all the way to the sea far off in the distance, and Poe smiles when he hears Kira gasp.

“It’s beautiful,” She murmurs, leaning forward onto her elbows and closing her eyes as the breeze dances across her cheeks, breathing in the fresh air even as her beauty takes Poe’s breath away.

“I used to play in these ruins as a boy. It was my father’s most cherished retreat before the war.” He turns around, propping his elbows against the wall as well, but facing the opposite direction. Looking down over what remains of the castle. “I’ve measured my life by these trees. Starting here to all the way up there.” He holds his hand out to demonstrate, and she smiles fondly. “And still they grow – so much life to live. But,” He pauses, looking over at her and daring to softly caress her cheek, “I no longer imagine it alone.”

Her eyelids flutter closed at his touch, but only for a moment, her hand already reaching up to pull his away. “Your Highness, there is something I must tell you.”

The use of his title makes him squirm, and he shakes his head, turning to face her fully and kissing her cheek. “It’s Poe, please. Just Poe. You of all people don’t need to use my title, Kira.”

“You’re not making this easy.” Letting out another breath, she squares her shoulders, trying to hide the way the action makes her wince. “I can’t stay long,” She repeats, her voice taking on a stiffness that makes her words seem rehearsed, “But I had to see you. There are things I need to say, to explain. The day we met I was only thinking about one thing – rescuing my friend. It was my primary concern and I couldn’t risk doing or saying anything that would jeopardize that. I never expected to meet you, or that you would ever want to talk to me. And I certainly never expected you to want to spend more time with me after that initial meeting.”

How could she think that? _Doesn’t she know how incredible she is?_

“I am incredibly grateful that I arrived when I did, Kira,” Poe interrupts, grinning at the memory. Her spirit had caught his attention almost immediately. “You changed my life that day – with all your talk of crime and punishment and quoting philosophy at me. Challenging me like no one else ever has. Daring to call me difficult to my face. Behaving in exactly the way I’d come to believe the nobility _couldn’t_ behave. You’re an amazing woman, Countess, I wouldn’t change these past few days with you for the world.”

“Poe, no.” She shakes her head, stepping back. “You don’t understand. These past few days have been some of the happiest in my life, but it has all been a dream.”

“It feels like that to me, too.” He nods, picking up a section of her hair and running the silky strands between his fingers and thumb. “The _best_ dream.”

“No.” She shakes her head again, then looks to the sky and lets out an exasperated huff. “I mean, yes, it has been the best sort of dream – one I never would have dared to dream before – but it’s not real. I’m trying to tell you that the woman you think I am isn’t real.”

“Sunshine,” He laughs under his breath, disbelieving, “You are more real than anything else I’ve ever known. I’ve found my purpose, Kira, because of you. And in that purpose, I have found the most wonderful freedom.”

Poe presses his forehead against hers, cupping her face in the palms of his hands like she’s the most precious thing in the world, and he’s about to kiss her when he feels wet, hot tears pooling against his fingers.

“It wasn’t me,” She insists, her voice trembling.

“It _was_ ,” Poe insists right back, determined to make her understand. “I’m in love with you, Kira de Kryze, and tomorrow at the ball I would like to make it known to the world. I know it’s fast. In a perfect world we’d have months to get to know each other better, but I don’t have months, or even weeks, I just have today. But that doesn’t matter because I know you are the one I want to spend my life with. That is,” He pulls back just enough to be able to see her better, swallowing around the lump in his throat that appears when she refuses to look up at him, “If you want the same thing.” 

She sniffs, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “Why did you have to be so wonderful?”

“Is that a yes?” He moves to kiss her again, and this time she lets him. Tilting her chin up to meet his lips with her own and opening up to him almost immediately. The passion that had been unleashed yesterday in the field rises in him again, and he strokes his tongue along hers – humming in pleasure when he hears her whimper in response.

Eventually he has to tear his mouth away to catch his breath, but he doesn’t go far. Her hands are tangled in his hair, clenched around his curls to keep him in place, and Poe drags his lips along her jaw and down her neck to that spot under her ear that makes her moan, taking extra care to use his scruff to heighten the sensation without hurting her.

His hands slip underneath her cloak to find her waist, sliding around her slender hips before slowly moving up her back, and he gasps in surprise when he finds that her stays are only done up halfway, the laces hanging loosely on either side. That explains the cloak - she must have worn it to hide her state of undress. Fire licks at his veins, urging him forward, and he kisses her deeply while walking them backwards until he can feel the rampart wall behind her.

Instinctively shifting his leg so that it’s placed between hers, he presses her back against the stones for leverage, only for Kira to arch away from them and cry out in pain.

“Kira?” Poe steps away immediately, maintaining his hold on her waist for support while anxiously scanning her face for signs of what’s wrong. “Are you alright?”

Fresh tears stream down her cheeks and her shoulders heave as she takes a few deep, steadying breaths, multiple seconds passing before she can finally pry open her eyes. “No. I must go.”

_What?_

Ice floods through is limbs, the shock freezing him in place while she slips past him and runs back down the stairs – already halfway across the courtyard before his brain can catch up and command his body to chase after her.

“Kira!” He shouts, taking the stairs two at a time and weaving in and out through the rubble to try and catch up. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Ahead he can hear her muttering _no, no, no_ to herself repeatedly, and dread explodes inside his chest – knocking the air out of his lungs.

_This can't be happening!_

Just outside the ruins her horse stands waiting, the same old horse he’d stolen from the Baroness what feels like a lifetime ago, and Kira climbs stiffly into the saddle, grimacing in visible agony. Breaking Poe’s heart with a single glance.

“I can’t do this Poe. Go back to your castle and forget about me.”

“Kira, I –“

“No,” She sobs, turning the horse in the direction of the manor, “No.”

His legs lose their ability to hold his weight, and Poe falls to his knees as he watches her gallop away.

****

Poe returns to the castle hours later and returns Black One to his stall with his heart heavier than its ever been. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. He was supposed to be returning to the castle with Kira by his side, the two of them happy and in love and ready to declare it to the world.

Forget about her? As if he ever could. 

He’d stayed there on his knees, dirt staining his trousers, agonizing over every second of their interaction. Desperately trying to understand how they could go from kissing one second to utter rejection the next. And he can’t make any sense of it.

Why would Kira kiss him like that if she didn’t love him? And if she didn’t love him, why would she have spent the last few days in his company behaving as if she did? Or, if not love, at least acting as if her feelings might be heading in that direction. Did he push her to fast? Come on too strong?

 _Oh god,_ he chokes on the rising bile in his throat, _did she feel pressured to behave that way by me?_ The thought makes him sick, and he has to stop outside the barn and empty the meager contents of his stomach into the bushes – wiping his mouth off on his sleeve.

If the only reason she spent time with him was because she felt she couldn’t say no to a prince, then he’ll hate himself forever.

Poe drops down onto a nearby bench and puts his head between his knees, scrunching his eyes shut tight and taking a few deep breaths. Trying not to vomit again and praying his self-loathing is misplaced – that there is some other reason she said no and that her actions and feelings were genuine. Either way, he needs to write her a letter and apologize. Needs to make sure she knows that he never intended to pressure her in any way and that he’s sorry if she felt like he did.

Stumbling back onto his feet, Poe makes his way through the garden towards the castle – ducking behind one of the taller topiaries when he hears voices coming from the nearby gazebo. He can’t bear to see anyone. Not now. Not today.

“Oh you really must let my doctor look at that.” He recognizes Leia’s voice and the sound of tinkling china, and assumes that she must be having brunch with someone. Probably a courtier eager to spend five minutes with the queen so that they can go home and brag to their relatives about it. “To think you saved that baby from a runaway horse.”

“It was a maternal instinct, your majesty.”

The second voice makes Poe’s blood run cold, and he peeks around the bush just far enough to confirm his suspicions.

There, sitting at the table, surrounded by white lattice and blossoming roses, is Paige Tico – sporting a rather impressive black eye and accompanied by her mother on one side and her younger sister on the other. His day just keeps getting worse. 

He’d forgotten that Leia had mentioned inviting the Baroness and her daughters to the castle for breakfast. Or rather – he’d forgotten that it was set for _today_. Some sort of show of gratitude for returning a necklace or something. He can’t remember the details, only that Leia had promised to use it as a reconnaissance mission. An attempt to convince the Baroness to let him marry Kira.

That won’t be necessary now.

The Baroness frowns as she sips her tea, shooting a glare at Rose when she reaches for another pastry. “I’m so sorry the Prince couldn’t join us this morning.”

 _Yes, I’m sure you are_ , Poe thinks, rolling his eyes. Almost chuckling when he sees Leia struggling not to do the same.

“Yes,” She takes another pastry for herself, handing one to Rose as well with a conspiratorial smile, “He seems to have disappeared again.”

“Again?” The Baroness quirks her eyebrow, perking up with interest.

“Prince Dameron is very fond of adventure.” Leia laughs, sitting back in her chair in a move Poe knows is calculated to make her guests feel more at ease and to find her less threatening. (And therefore make them more willing to talk.) “He was gone most of the day yesterday, and all day the day before that.”

“Well,” the Baroness huffs, sounding uncertain, “It must be marvelous to have that kind of… stamina.”

“Oh, to be young.” Leia sighs with a fond smile. “But you must tell me everything new at the Kenobi estate. It’s been years since I visited there – I believe not since your husband was still alive. My stepson tells me you have a cousin staying with you, Baroness. It must be nice to have family visiting.”

The Baroness simpers and smirks, sitting up a little straighter at the mention of past visits, until Leia mentions Kira, and then her face does a funny sort of scrunch. Brow furrowing and lips curling into a deep frown. “A cousin, your majesty?”

“Yes,” Leia gestures for one of the servants to refill everyone’s tea, smiling encouragingly, “Countess Kira de Kryze, I believe. They met the other day when she was at the castle doing business regarding one of her servants. Has she been in the country long?”

“Kira,” The Baroness hesitates over the name, apparently oblivious to the rest of the Queen’s question, “de _Kryze_ did you say?”

“Mhmm.” Leia adds two sugars to her tea and slowly stirs it with her spoon, her sharp brown eyes never leaving Baroness Tico’s face. “I’ve heard she’s very fond of reading. Perhaps that’s why you have not presented her at court. Can’t get her out of the library.” She laughs and all three of the Ticos join in, although all of them are wearing matching expressions of confusion. Almost as if they have no idea what she is talking about.

Perhaps the Ticos are not the loving relatives Kira had hoped to find here, and Poe’s broken heart softens. He should have guessed she’d be unhappy in such a house.

“We don’t have a library,” Paige starts to say, but the Baroness cuts her off.

“I do apologize, your majesty, but there simply wasn’t time to introduce her to you. She was only staying with us a short while. You see,” The Baroness smiles smugly, as if she’d just thought of something particularly clever, “She’s engaged.”

For the second time that morning Poe sinks to his knees, winded by the sudden and utterly unexpected revelation. _ENGAGED!?_ There has to be some mistake.

“What?” Leia asks, dropping her indifferent façade and sounding just as shocked as Poe feels. 

“Yes,” The Baroness confirms, “She was traveling by boat this afternoon. She’ll be married in less than a fortnight.”

No. _No_. It can’t be true.

Lurching to his feet, Poe marches around the bushes and up the pathway to where the women are eating. Not bothering to give them any warning or even a proper greeting before turning to the Baroness. “What do you mean she’s engaged? That’s impossible.”

“Your Highness!” Paige jumps to her feet, dropping into a deep curtsy, but Poe ignores her.

“Answer, Baroness, and choose your words carefully.”

Taking a moment to observe him, she stays silent. Scanning his face before slowly jutting out her bottom lip in a pout so exaggerated it’s almost a mockery. “You care for her.” It’s not a question, and Poe swallows in discomfort. Overwhelmed by the sensation that he’s revealed too much. “I am _so_ sorry that I didn’t inform you sooner regarding her engagement. Why, if I’d known she was using you so shamelessly and toying with your emotions, I would have put a stop to it at once! She’s always been such an unfaithful, headstrong, manipulative little thing. Frankly, I pity her new husband.” She stands up, placing her hand on Poe’s elbow, and he resists the urge to shake her off, knowing it would be seen as impolite. “I’m sorry you became her victim, sire.”

Paige shares a look with her mother, and then nods, adopting the same saccharine tone. “Some people just don’t understand the meaning of loyalty and honor.”

None of their words make any sense. Their characterization of Kira doesn’t fit with the woman he’s come to know at all. But… she did say his idea of her wasn’t real. She’s engaged, and she _lied_ about it. For days she kept the secret, letting him touch her and kiss her and tell her things he’d never –

 _Why_ didn’t she tell him?

Devastated all over again and ignoring all sense of propriety, Poe spins around on his heel and walks away. Ignoring the irritated and offended noises behind him.

If this is what having a soulmate brings, he doesn’t want it.

He spends the afternoon avoiding.

Avoiding Snap, who tries to challenge him to another fencing match. Avoiding his father, who wants to know if he’s chosen someone other than Princess Bliss yet. Avoiding Jess, who wants him to join her hunting party. Avoiding every other living person. And especially avoiding his thoughts.

Instead he sneaks Beebee out of the castle and takes him to the farthest edge of the grounds, way on the other end of the gardens where hardly anyone ever ventures except the occasional groundskeeper – who don’t even bother to glance in his direction – to play fetch. Finding solace in the repetition and physical exertion of throwing the stick for Beebee and amusement in his faithful companion’s excitement each time he retrieves it and brings it back for another throw.

Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon, and for once Poe welcomes the rain. Let it be a serious storm with thunder and lightning and a torrent of rainfall. Let the skies match his black mood. With any luck he’ll catch a cold and have to miss the ball completely.

“At least we’ll always have each other, right, buddy?” He crouches down and gives Beebee a good rub behind the ears and a kiss on the forehead before picking up the stick and hurling it as far as he can.

His right arm is definitely going to be sore in the morning.

“Funny, that’s what I was about to say.” Leia walks over to the edge of the nearby fountain and sits down, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Poe’s bewildered expression. He’d never expected anyone would find him out here, and, if he’s being honest, he’d hoped Leia would have supported him by discouraging anyone who might have gone looking.

Apparently not.

“What are you doing here?” Beebee comes bounding back over to him, dropping the slobbery stick at Poe’s feet before sauntering over to Leia and resting his head on her knee – begging for affection that she happily bestows.

“I knew after what you heard this morning that you’d want to be alone for a while.” Leia looks at Beebee while she talks, but Poe can tell from that specific tone she’s using – one he’s heard many times employed against members of the privy council – that she’s gearing up for a lecture. “But after six hours enough is enough. You cannot hide out here forever, bottling up your feelings and growing angrier by the second.”

“I’m not angry,” Poe interjects, kicking at a lose pebble and sending it flying across the grass.

“And I’m a scruffy-looking goatherder,” Leia snarks, chuckling when Poe shoots her a glare. “Don’t bottle up your emotions, Poe, that only lets them control you rather than the other way around. Talk. Let them out. You’ll feel better when you do.”

At her prompting, the hurt and frustration he’d been struggling to contain erupts out of him, and Poe picks up the stick and flings it at the nearest tree, satisfied when it breaks with a satisfying snap, taking a few other twigs down with it. “I just don’t understand! I thought she – I thought we were on the same page. We talked about important things, I told her about my mother, secrets I’ve never told anyone else. We bonded, we kissed – why would she allow all that if she was already promised to someone else? Wasn't she thinking of my feelings at all?!"

“You have no idea what she’s thinking,” Leia replies calmly, pulling a treat out of her pocket and feeding it to Beebee who happily licks her palm in gratitude. 

“That’s for damn sure.” Poe walks over to the fountain and drops down on the cold stone beside her, offering Beebee a rueful smile when the faithful dog swaps Leia’s lap for his and bumps his nose against Poe’s leg, clearly noticing his distress. “If she was engaged then she damn well should have had the decency to say something.”

“Oh, Poe,” Leia sighs, placing her hand on his forearm, “It’s not always that simple, especially for women. You don’t know what the circumstances surrounding her engagement are. And besides, if she had told you would you have listened?”

“Of course not! I would have –“ _Oh._ That brings him up short. He would have carried on anyway. Hadn’t she been trying to tell him something important at the Yavin ruins? _There are things I need to say, to explain._ She’d been attempting to tell him the truth, and he wouldn’t listen. All her hesitation this week, her secrecy, now makes sense. “Oh god, how could I have been so blind. There I was this morning pouring my royal heart out and she was simply trying to bid me farewell.”

What kind of man is her betrothed that she would be so willing to bestow her affections elsewhere before her marriage?

Jealousy settles inside his chest, making his heart ache and his jaw clench, accompanied by a cold twist of fear. _What if she’s unhappy? What if he’s cruel?_ He can’t bear the thought of seeing the sunshine in her extinguished by a harsh, uncaring husband. It’s worse than losing her himself.

But what can he do? She’s already left, and if she had to sail to reach her husband than that almost guarantees he’s a citizen of another kingdom, which means Poe holds no jurisdiction. He can hardly risk war by stealing another nobleman’s intended bride. Not that he cares for his own safety, it would be worth it to get Kira back, but to risk his kingdom and the lives of his subjects would be selfish and she would never forgive him.

“It is a strong woman who can keep her wits about her,” Leia says softly, patting his knee, “With you trying to steal her heart.”

“Yes,” Poe chuckles humorlessly, “And what a clumsy thief I turned out to be.”

“Oh, come now, Poe. You must have hope.”

“What hope is there?” He stands up, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out over the forest and the wall of slate grey clouds moving over them. “She’s gone.” Lost to him forever. Never to be anything more than a memory – an _almost_. A dream of what could have been. 

_“Well then how can you be certain to find them? And if you do find them, are they really the one for you, or do you only think they are? And what happens if the person you’re supposed to be with never appears or she does, but you’re too distracted to notice?”_

_"You learn to pay attention.”_

Well, Master Luke was wrong. Poe had paid attention, and fate had failed him anyway.

“I’m going to tell my father that he can announce the engagement to Princess Bliss tomorrow night.”

“What?” Leia stands up, and he can see her already shaking her head out of the corner of his eye. “No, Poe. You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do.” He nods solemnly, brushing the first few drops of rain off his sleeves and turning to guide Leia back to the castle. “Might as well allow father to make a strategic match for the good of the country. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

“I understand making sacrifices for this country more than most,” Leia stops him, ignoring the rain even though it’s beginning to come down harder now, “And as your queen I applaud your sense of duty and your willingness to put aside your own needs for those of your people. They’re important, necessary qualities in a sovereign. But as your stepmother and someone who loves you, I cannot allow you to rush into this decision so quickly. You’re not thinking clearly right now.”

“Leia, I appreciate your concern, but I’m serious. If I can’t have her, I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else. Now, you can either let Beebee and me accompany you back to the castle or stay out here and get soaked – your choice.”

Sighing her displeasure, she takes his arm and allows him to lead her back, and Poe prepares to resign himself to a hollow future. Although he’s unable to shake the feeling that something about this whole turn of events just isn’t right.

Is it really possible fate got everything so wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch! We're definitely in the angsty part of this story.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baroness has found out about Rey's secret relationship with the Prince, and punishes her accordingly. The night of the masked ball arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to thank you all for your continued kindness and support. It means the world to me!

****

_No, no, no_.

The word hasn’t stopped echoing inside Rey's head since she ran away. Away from Poe, standing there amidst the overgrown ruins looking at her like she was salvation personified. Away from his sweet words and hopeful brown eyes and dangerously tempting proposals. Away from the future she desperately wants and knows she cannot have.

Whether she’s simply saying no to his marriage proposal or crying out at the loss of him or berating herself for failing to tell Poe the truth, she isn’t sure. Perhaps it’s a mixture of all three. An endless litany of despair and frustration with a healthy dash of criticism thrown in for good measure.

She should have told him! The words were right there on the edge of her lips. The script she’d so carefully rehearsed on the ride to Yavin visible in her mind and ready to be spoken aloud. But she’d completely bungled the execution and he hadn’t understood, and then he’d told her that he loved her – that he wanted to spend his life with her – and any resolve she’d had dissipated into thin air.

How was she supposed to resist kissing him after that?

In her wildest dreams she hadn’t dared hope his feelings were so strong. What he said this morning was true - their relationship has moved quickly – and she does wish they had more time. Time to get to know each other properly, without all the subterfuge and secrets. Time to engage in a proper courtship for a proper couple. But even though she’s not quite ready to say those three important words back to him yet, she knows that last night when she told Finn she was falling in love with Poe she was speaking from the heart.

With his mouth moving against hers she’d been ready to accept, but then he’d pressed her against the stone wall and in doing so inadvertently crushed the lash marks across her upper back, and the pain had been the shock she needed to start thinking rationally again.

He’d called her _countess_. Implied that he liked her because her behavior was so antithetical to everything he’s come to expect from the nobility – a trait that would no longer apply if he knew she wasn’t actually a courtier. Despite Finn’s confidence last night, how could she not doubt his dedication when it wasn’t _her_ name falling from Poe’s lips with each statement of love and devotion.

Could she really trust that he would remain constant and true once he knew the truth?

It doesn’t matter now. Her one chance to be honest with him is gone. Wasted. And all she’s left with is the cold, bitter ache of heartbreak and the emptiness of what will never be. The pain of which is far worse than any physical wounds the Baroness could inflict.

Rey winces while dismounting from Artoo, hobbling through the barn as she leads him to his stall. Her back is on fire, whatever herbs Paulette had put in the salve to numb the pain having worn off sometime between kissing Poe and her ride back from Yavin, and she’ll need to have Rose reapply the ointment soon – otherwise she’s liable to black out like she did last night and that would just be embarrassing.

Rey Kenobi does _not_ succumb to pain. It would give the Baroness too much satisfaction.

They’d left the top half of her stays undone to try and avoid anything tugging at her raw skin and dislodging the bandages, a fact Rey blushes to remember Poe had noticed (she’d hoped her cloak would hide her indecency, as well as her shabby work dress, and hadn’t thought to anticipate his wandering hands), but she’s still anxious to be free of her restrictive clothes. Rose promised she and Finn would handle any chores that Paulette, Louise, and Maurice couldn’t manage, and Rey’s looking forward to catching up on some much-needed sleep.

Groaning, she removes the saddle and blanket from Artoo’s back and sets them down on the floor of his stall. They’ll have to be stored away in the tack room later, because she can’t possibly lift them for another second. Then she fills his feed bucket and pats him on the forehead to say goodbye, slipping him a sugar cube from her pocket. He’s earned it after galloping the entire way home. At his age that couldn’t have been easy – even if he has got more spunk than any other creature she knows.

The manor is unusually quiet for a midweek morning, and Rey prays that she’ll be able to make it to her room without running into any of her family members, unclasping her cloak and slipping in through the kitchen door.

“Rey!” Paulette drops the large bowl she was washing, oblivious to the spray of water that splashes across her apron, and rushes across the room. “You’re home. We’ve been worried sick about you.”

Louise nods frantically, abandoning her bread to take one of Rey’s hands and give it a squeeze – no doubt leaving globs of dough behind. It smells like honey, and the comforting scent manages to draw a tiny smile from her lips. “Are you alright, sweetheart? You’re as white as a ghost. Come sit down.”

“I’ll be fine.” She grits her teeth, sinking into the rickety chair by the fire and jerking her head in the direction of Paulette’s herbs and collection of homemade medicinal treatments. “Do you have anymore of the salve prepared, by chance?”

“Of course.” Paulette hurries to retrieve a large jar off the bottom shelf and gathers a few clean strips of cloth from the scrap pile in the corner. “I made a brand-new batch this morning after you left. I couldn’t bear to go back to sleep knowing where you were headed and what condition you were in.” She fixes her with a searching look, her last words lingering in the air as if asking an unspoken question, but Rey ignores it – instead taking the jar and cloths out of her hands with a quiet word of thanks.

“Is Rose here? She said she’d help me today.”

Louise shares a look with Paulette, a silent conversation passing between them, then shakes her head. “No. The Baroness and your stepsisters were having breakfast with the queen this morning. They left early and didn’t say when they’d return.”

Any other morning Rey would be surprised by this news. It isn’t every day that someone receives an invitation to the palace, especially not to dine with the queen herself. But while a tiny surge of adrenaline does rush up the back of her calves, a moment of concern, the rest of her can’t manage to feign any interest. “That’s just as well,” Rey sighs. Perhaps, in another world, she would be the one meeting Queen Leia today. Introducing herself as her stepson’s betrothed. But no. _No._

“You must tell us, child,” Paulette bursts, “What happened at the ruins with Prince Dameron? I take it, since you’re here with us and not with him, that the truth didn’t go over well?”

“Did he reject you for being a servant?” Louise adds, “Because if so, I can think of one or two less than neighborly words I’d like to say to him.” 

“I couldn’t –“ Rey begins to speak, fresh tears pricking at the back of her eyes and the lump in her throat growing larger, struggling to find the words to explain her failure, when the door to the kitchen flies open – slamming against the wall with a teeth-rattling crack.

Paulette and Louise shriek at the sudden intrusion, cowering against the table as the Baroness marches into the room, Paige and Rose close behind. All three of them are dressed in their finest gowns and jewelry, the Baroness’s elaborate headdress fluttering around her shoulders like gossamer curtains, and Rey can see the carriage still standing outside with its door hanging open and Maurice only halfway out of the driver’s seat. They must have decided to come into the house through the side door instead of the front entrance, something the Baroness hasn’t done once in ten years.

This can’t be good.

Rey stands up, clutching the jar in her arms like a shield and mentally trying to calculate the fastest route of escape should the Baroness decide one whipping wasn’t enough.

“Of all the insidious jokes, using your mother’s last name to turn yourself into a Countess!” The Baroness screeches, and Rey flinches when she throws her arms out to the side, barely comprehending what her stepmother is saying for fear of one of her hands coming in contact with her face. But then her words sink in, and all Rey can think is _fuck._

Her day just went from bad to worse.

“Why not aim higher, hmm?” The Baroness continues with a sneer, moving closer and closer until she and Rey are almost standing nose to nose. “Why not introduce yourself as a dame, instead? Dame Rey! Can you imagine? It’s almost as absurd as a prince who spends his days with a servant who sleeps with pigs.”

Droplets of spit land on Rey’s cheeks, and she slowly raises her hand to wipe them away. “What bothers you more, Stepmother? That I am common or that I am competition?”

“Competition?” The Baroness hisses, her mouth twisting into a cruel snarl as she lets out a nasty laugh. “My child you are barely the mud on his boots. If he knew who you truly were, he would toss you away without a second thought. I don’t know how you’ve ensnared him, what manner of seduction you used to lure the Prince into your web, but it doesn’t matter because you will never see him again. Your stepsister is the one he’s meant to marry, and _she_ is the one who will be doing the seducing. Paige,” She calls out over her shoulder, “Fetch Satine’s dress. Rey won’t be needing it and we’ll need to have it properly fitted if you’re to wear it to the ball tomorrow night.”

“No!” Rey cries out, “You can’t!”

“Gladly.” Paige smirks, talking over Rey and turning to go upstairs.

“It’s not there.”

Everyone in the room goes silent at the quiet interruption, gaping at Rose as she stands up a little straighter and crosses the kitchen to stand beside Rey. Her hands balling into fists around the dove grey skirts of her dress as she struggles not to shake.

“It isn’t there,” She repeats, clearing her throat and trying to talk louder, “The dress is gone.”

“ _What_!?” Paige shrieks with indignation, her face turning red as her eyes shoot daggers at her sister in an attempt to intimidate her like she has a thousand times before. “The gown, the slippers, they were in my room this morning and now you’re saying they’re _gone_!?”

“Yes,” Rose replies simply, her shoulders sort of twitching in what Rey thinks is supposed to be a casual shrug. From up close, she can hear every wobble in her voice, see the way her whole body is vibrating with fear, but Rose stands her ground. Squaring her shoulders and refusing to give into Paige’s bullying.

“Where is the dress, Rose?” The Baroness’s voice is cool, detached, but the steel in her eyes belies any appearance of indifference. There’s venom there, and a clear threat should her will be defied.

Her sharp eyes stay fixed on her youngest daughter, and although Rose tries for a brief moment to return her gaze like she did Paige’s, only seconds pass before she falters under the intensity of it – dropping her chin to her chest and resolutely staring at the stone floor instead. “I don’t know.”

_She does know,_ Rey looks at her out of the corner of her eye, catching it when Rose tugs on her earlobe – a tell-tale sign she’s had since childhood that she’s lying and trying not to give herself away. She’s hidden the dress and the shoes, and gratitude blossoms inside Rey’s chest.

“You hid them!” Paige jabs her finger accusingly towards Rey, turning on her when it becomes apparent that her sister won’t give her what she wants. “I know it!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rey forces herself to appear impassive, pressing her lips together and breathing deeply to calm her racing heart. It’s the truth, but neither woman is going to accept that. Not when she has the most to gain by the gown going missing. 

“Where did you put the gown and the shoes, Rey!?”

“You tell us where they are right this instant or so help me -!”

“Where did you hide them!?”

“You’re nothing more than a worthless liar and a thief and if you think for one second that –“

“Where are the mirrors and the candlesticks and everything else that’s gone missing around the house these past months? Maybe the dress is with them!” Rey snaps, stepping in front of Rose to protect her. The trembling is getting worse, never having faced the Baroness or Paige’s wrath like this before, and Rey wants her to know she’s not alone.

They are friends now, after all.

The Baroness is visibly seething, her chest heaving with the effort of containing all the obscenities she probably wants to hurl at them. “You will produce that gown or –“

“Or what?” Rey shouts back. “Or you’ll beat me again? I would rather die a thousand deaths than to see my mother’s dress on that spoiled, selfish cow!”

The room goes quiet. Silent to the point that the gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall against the windowpanes sounds like cannons. As if everyone decided to hold their breath in unison, waiting to see what fresh hell the Baroness will conjure up as punishment for Rey’s insubordination.

Beside her Rey can practically hear the cogs in Rose’s brain spinning. A desperate attempt to come up with a solution or plausible explanation that will save them both from their fate. But she knows there’s no hope. With everything that’s happened with the prince and now this, Rey knows with grim certainty that her punishment will be swift and severe.

Finally, the Baroness seems to smile, and with a flick of her wrist she grabs Rey’s arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into her skin like claws and leaving half-moon crescents in their wake. “Perhaps we can arrange that.” 

Before Rey has a chance to resist, the Baroness drags her across the room and throws her down the short steps into the dark, chilly pantry.

She barely catches herself on the wall in time to break her fall onto the dirt floor, only just managing to keep ahold of the jar of salve and save it from shattering, before looking back to see the Baroness slamming the heavy metal door shut and twisting the key in the lock.

“If any of you unlock this door, you’ll be sold to the first buyer.” Rey hears her threaten Paulette and Louise, and her heart sinks all the way down to her feet. Something tells her this is only the beginning of whatever retribution the Baroness has planned, and if they aren't careful, they're all going to suffer.

****

It’s cold in the pantry, the only source of light and heat coming from the thick paned windows on the far side of the room, and Rey tucks the burlap sack tighter in around her thighs. She’d used it as a makeshift blanket during the night, trying to keep her toes from turning into little blocks of ice, but there’s not enough of it to cover her arms and so she’s huddled up in front of one of the windows – desperately seeking the sun’s warmth. For the thousandth time in the last twenty-four hours, she regrets taking off her cloak yesterday morning when she got home from the ruins.

Her stomach grumbles loudly and she lays her palm over it, rubbing the spot as if that will drive the hunger pangs away. The pantry is sparse – most of the food she collects from the garden is either used the same day or sold at the market – and she’d eaten the only loaf of bread last night for supper. There are a few bottles of wine on the rack in the corner, but she knows that will do little to ease the ache and wouldn’t be worth the trouble. If the Baroness returned to find her wine gone and Rey drunk, she’d probably murder her on the spot.

Rey has spent most of the day listening to the noises from the floor above. The pantry sits underneath Paige’s room and so she’d had a front row seat to the sounds of her stepmother and sisters getting ready for the ball. Complete with arguments, screeching, and constant complaints. From what she could understand, it sounded as if, in lieu of Satine’s dress being available, Paige had dressed up as a peacock and Rose a horse.

(She still thinks a cow is a more fitting comparison for Paige, but her stepsister does strut around a room as cockily as any peacock, so perhaps it’s not entirely off the mark.)

They’d left about five minutes ago, after the Baroness had made one more visit to the kitchen to warn Paulette and Louise not to help Rey escape, and now the manor is quiet again. The yellow and orange sunset accompanied only by the gentle sound of Rey’s breathing.

Suddenly there’s a loud clanging at the door, and Rey’s head shoots up, her body shuddering involuntarily at the unpleasant sound of metal scraping against metal.

“A fork isn’t going to work!” Paulette’s voice carries through the door, irritated and impatient. “Try the knife!”

There’s more clamoring, and Rey kicks off the burlap sack and stretches her stiff legs before crossing the room to stand at the bottom of the short stairway. “What are you doing?”

“We’re trying to get you out of there!” Paulette replies like it’s obvious.

“This isn’t working either,” Louise shoots back, and Rey hears the sound of something falling onto the floor. “Let Maurice try. As steward he has the spare keys to the manor.”

“The Baroness took the key to the pantry with her!” Paulette argues.

“I know, but maybe one of the other keys will fit! It’s worth trying. Rey, we’ll be right back!” Louise knocks on the door in what’s meant to be a comforting gesture before the two women shuffle away.

Rey drops down onto the nearby barrel of ale, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins while she waits. There’s practically no chance that the Baroness would have been careless enough to leave Maurice with a key that could free her, but she appreciates their willingness to try. If only because she’s dying for a piece of toast or an apple or maybe even a fried egg. Anything to quell her growing hunger.

A few minutes pass and then the three of them are back at the door, accompanied by the jangling of keys. “This one might do it,” She hears Maurice say, “It’s the key to the shed in the barn – one of our most secure locks.” There’s a quiet _snick_ and a _thunk_ , followed by a huff of frustration. “It only turns halfway.”

“Maybe halfway is enough,” Louise suggests.

“Yes,” Paulette claps, “Maybe we can pull the door hard enough to get it to break open the rest of the way.”

The door rattles as they grunt and heave, but doesn’t budge an inch, and Rey rests her chin on her right knee, laying her cheek on her left. “It’s no use. I’m stuck in here until she decides to let me out.” Which probably won’t be until Paige is instated as their new princess and sitting at Poe’s side. “Besides, you heard her threat. She said –“

“She said none of _us_ could open the door,” Paulette replies slowly, an idea forming, “She didn’t say anything about getting someone else to do it.”

“Exactly!” Louise agrees, sounding determined. “Maurice, go to town and find Finn. Tell him to go to the prince and tell him what’s happened. Take Artoo – Rey’s taught Finn how to ride and he’ll go faster that way. Hurry!”

She can hear Maurice already leaving before she can process Louise’s suggestion and remember why that’s such a terrible idea. Poe doesn’t know who she is, and now he might discover the truth by finding her dirty and injured and locked inside a dark pantry. It’s humiliating. But there’s no way for her to stop them. 

“Don’t you worry, child,” Paulette calls through the door, a smile in her voice, “The Prince will come and all will be well.”

If only she could believe that.

Time passes slowly, and Rey watches as the shadows warp and grow long – stretching from the window to the opposite wall and creeping up the stones. Moving like thick molasses inching its way across each surface until it reaches her spot on top of the barrel and starts to consume her as well.

Night is falling, the ball is due to begin any moment, and with the faint twinkle of the first star appearing above the treeline Rey begins to lose any hope she’d had, however small, of a rescue.

A commotion in the kitchen rouses her from her melancholy, and she sits up just in time to hear Louise and Paulette muttering something and a male’s voice reply. It doesn’t sound like Poe, but her heart thumps wildly inside her chest anyway.

“Allow me,” The voice says. There’s a slight pause, a moment’s silence, followed by the clattering of metal, and then the door lifts free to reveal Master Skywalker with two large pins in his hands looking quite pleased with himself.

“That was pure genius!” Louise exclaims, her mouth hanging open as she stares at him with wide eyes.

“These old doors have simple hinges,” Master Luke explains, dropping the pins into her open palm, “Remove the pins and they’ll slip free. Nothing to it really.”

Rey slides off the barrel onto her feet just in time to see Finn brush past Master Luke and Louise. He jumps the three steps entirely, landing on the dirt with a thud, and runs over to sweep her up into a giant hug, lifting her clean off her feet while still being careful not to touch her back.

“Finn!” She grins, holding on tight while he spins her around once before setting her back down. “How?”

“Well, Maurice said the Prince was expecting you. I rode to the castle as fast as I could, but Prince Dameron was nowhere to be found, so I thought who could be better to break you out of your cell than the legendary Luke Skywalker!” He gives her elbows a squeeze and then steps to the side, making room for Master Luke to enter the pantry and join them.

“He is expecting someone who doesn’t exist.” Rey turns to him, curtsying and shaking her head in apology. “Master, my name is Rey Kenobi and I am nothing more than a servant.”

“And I am the adopted son of a farmer.” Master Luke’s casual reply brings her up short, his shrug and easy smile only adding to her confusion. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I have deceived him.” She lowers her head in shame, only for Luke to gently lift her chin with his index finger, his blue eyes full of sympathy.

“The Prince will understand.”

“Come, child,” Paulette enters the crowded room in a tizzy, taking Rey’s hand and dragging her towards the door, “The night is young. We must get you ready for the ball.”

“I don’t want to go.”

What could she possibly do or say to make this right? Master Luke might not think her position matters, but Poe is the crown prince. Not to mention the fact that she’s had multiple chances to tell him the truth, and yet she chickened out every single time. What right does she have to expect him to listen to her now?

“But if you stay, the Baroness wins!” Louise protests, already retrieving the embroidered glass slippers from their hiding spot behind the wood pile.

“As you can see, we have the slippers,” Paulette winks, “And I happen to know where Rose hid a certain dress…”

“But how can I face him?”

Luke follows them into the kitchen, tugging at the ends of his grey beard, his voice stern, but not unkind. “Because he deserves to hear the truth from the one he loves.”

_The one he loves -_ it can't be that simple.

“A bird may love a fish, Master,” She argues softly, “But where would they live?”

Master Luke seems to think this over for a moment, looking around the room, before his face lights up. “Then I shall have to make you wings.”

The next thirty minutes is a whirlwind of activity.

First, Rey runs upstairs to take the quickest bath of her life – wiping all the dirt away and making sure there are no traces of the last twenty-four hours left on her body. Then Paulette applies a new coating of the salve on her back while Louise wraps her up in fresh bandages, making sure they’ll be able to protect her from any friction against her corset or the dress. Once they’re satisfied that her wounds are adequately cared for, the two of them rush her from her bedroom upstairs to her father’s old office – musty and covered in dust from years of neglect – where Rose had hidden the dress rather cleverly behind an old portrait of Rey's parents that the Baroness must have stuffed against the back wall at some point.

Holding it up to the light, Rey is overwhelmed once again by its beauty. Just like she was the first time her father had showed it to her when she was a little girl, explaining that someday the dress would be hers to wear at the start of a new life. The scalloped lace at the neckline is covered with silver foil that can also be found appliqued onto the sleeves. The skirt is a weightless, shimmering silver gauze with a soft pearly grey satin underskirt. And the whole thing has been embroidered with tiny pearls and beads in shapes reminiscent of stars.

Paulette twists her hair up into an intricately braided design, and, once she’s slipped on the shoes, she returns to the kitchen to find Luke holding up the most beautiful, delicate wings.

“Piano wire and organza,” He says proudly, “Never underestimate what you can do with a few household items and a little creativity.”

“They’re perfect,” Rey breathes, staring at the translucent fabric in amazement. They’ll match her dress perfectly and help her fit in at the ball where everyone will be in costume.

Luke gestures for her to turn around, and she holds still while he attaches the wings to her bodice. The feeling of them hanging off her back is strange, but they aren’t so heavy as to hurt her or feel uncomfortable, and Rey turns around to face her friends with a bashful smile on her face. “Well, how do I look?”

Finn is the first to respond, crossing the room to take her hands and press a kiss to her cheek. “Like an angel. If Prince Dameron doesn’t propose on the spot, then I just might have to do it myself.”

“I’m not sure Rose would appreciate that,” Rey teases, and Finn retaliates by running his fingers up her ribs – making her laugh for the first time in days.

“Come on! No time to waste!” Louise claps her hands, herding them from the kitchen and out into the twilight where Luke’s carriage is still standing, the door already open. He and Finn must have gotten out of it in a hurry, and Rey feels an overwhelming burst of affection and gratitude towards both men for their willingness to help.

They came for her, despite everything. A kindness she’ll never forget for as long as she lives. 

“You can ride back in the carriage with me and Finn.” Luke stands by the carriage door and holds out his hand to help her into it, careful to assist in such a way as to not knock or damage her wings.

“Me?” Finn points at himself, gaping at Master Luke. “I figured you’d want me to stay here and wait for Rey’s return.” 

“You told me you were an artist, didn’t you?” Master Luke huffs out a gruff sounding laugh. “You can tell me more about your work on the way.”

Finn doesn’t need to be told twice, and he climbs up into the carriage and sits across from Rey without saying another word, making her laugh again at his eagerness.

Real hope blossoms inside her chest and she can barely contain her excitement. Perhaps all is not yet lost. 

The carriage moves forward with a lurch, and Rey leans out the window to wave back at Louise, Paulette, and Maurice. With a bit of luck and forgiveness, hopefully the circumstances of her return will be very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not quite out of the woods yet...


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the grand masquerade ball! Poe makes a decision, unmakes it, and then makes it again in a fit of stubbornness.

****

Poe tugs at the stiff collar of his richly embellished ivory and gold satin doublet, struggling to create more room between the fabric and his throat. In hindsight, perhaps missing all of his fittings this week had been a mistake, but his schedule had been commandeered by something much more pleasurable and he’d never expected his father to choose something so ostentatious in his absence. But it is a masked ball and parties like this are rare, so he’s willing to grin and bear it.

Well, except for the grinning part. He has no reason to smile tonight, and he’s not sure he could manage it even if he tried.

Fiddling with his golden jewel-encrusted livery collar, Poe takes one last look at himself in the mirror. As much as he enjoys shirking his royal duties, he knows when it’s time to be serious and play the part of the crown prince, and tonight is one of those times. It wouldn’t do to show up to the biggest event of the year looking like a scoundrel with his head in the clouds.

His dark curls have been trimmed and appropriately tamed, but despite shaving that morning there’s already a shadow of hair on his jaw, and he absentmindedly scratches at it while leaning in closer to the glass. Two lines seem to have permanently settled in between his eyebrows since yesterday morning, and he rubs at them to try and smooth out his skin. If he isn’t careful, every courtier in the province will know he’s nursing a broken heart and that’s one rumor he’s determined to avoid. Let them think he’s finally accepting his royal mantle and becoming suitably solemn instead. That will make more sense than heartbreak after his father’s announcement tonight.

As if on cue, the door to his bedchamber creaks open and Poe watches his father’s reflection in the mirror as he shuts it behind him. The creases he’d found in his own face only moments ago are a perfect copy of the ones he sees in his father’s forehead now, and Poe turns around to face him. “What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the preparations? It isn’t that giant model ship you insisted on, is it? Because I told you that architect wasn’t going to be able to mimic the ocean with enough believability to make it work.”

“That _ship_ is a perfect replica of the one I used to captain in my youth, and no,” Kes huffs indignantly, “The design works, and I think you’ll be quite impressed. And so will Luke, by the way. He used to sail with me.”

The corner of Poe’s mouth crooks up in response to getting the reaction he’d wanted – intending to distract his father from whatever he’d come to say with a little teasing – and he crosses the room to the fireplace, propping one leg up on the stone hearth and resting his elbow on the mantel.

“I’ve come to speak to you about something else, Poe.” Kes sighs, opening his mouth to continue, but Poe is quick to interrupt.

“I know what you’re going to say, and it’s pointless.”

His father shakes his head and comes to stand beside him, placing his hand on Poe’s shoulder. “Perhaps it was unfair of me to put as much pressure on you as I did - about the marriage contract. I just thought it was time to make some changes in your life. You seemed to be a bit… floundering. And I just wanted to say that this university thing is a brilliant idea.” His voice trails off and he hesitates for a few seconds, looking for the right words even though Poe’s already prepared to reject them. Finally, with a squeeze of Poe’s shoulder, he murmurs, “We don’t have to announce anything tonight.”

It’s the same thing Poe’s been hearing all day. First from Kes, then Leia, then Snap, then Kes and Leia together. Considering his father had been so adamant about the arrangement with Princess Bliss, Poe had expected him to be thrilled by his announcement, but instead he’d looked disappointed and even a little guilty. A rather frustrating reaction if he’s being honest. If it can’t be the groom, then at least _somebody_ should be happy about the news, and at the very least it should be the man responsible for the idea in the first place. 

“I’ve made my decision.” Poe pushes off the mantel and walks over to the small table in front of the window where a pitcher full of water and a basin have been prepared, along with a rough linen cloth and paste to clean his teeth.

Behind him he hears Kes’s muttered, “Oh,” and he tries not to react.

This is what his father wanted! He doesn’t have a right to be sad.

But apparently, he is. Regret is etched into Kes’s features like the carvings around the fireplace, and he frowns deeply while keeping his eyes trained on his son. “I regret pushing you into this. I was being too hasty and too harsh when I issued that ultimatum last week, giving into the fears and anxieties of an old man, and I am ashamed of my behavior. I’m sorry, mijo.”

Poe finishes cleaning his teeth, taking a sip of the cinnamon wine from the cup nearby and swishing it around his mouth before spitting it out in the basin, then turns back around. “I understand your reasons, Papá, it’s alright.”

“What I’m saying is, things have changed. There’s no rush,” His father continues softly, but Poe’s already shaking his head before he finishes speaking.

“There’s no point.” Like he told Leia last night, if he can’t have Kira, he doesn’t want to fall in love with anyone else. And if he can’t love anyone else, then he might as well make an advantageous match on behalf of his kingdom.

It’s ironic, but Kira would probably be proud of him for finally putting his people’s needs above his own.

“Just promise me you’ll think about it.” With these final words, Kes slips back out through the door, leaving Poe alone with his thoughts once more.

But he doesn’t need to think about it. The only thing that could change his mind now is Kira showing up at the ball, declaring her love, and forsaking this mystery fiancé, followed by a lengthy and justified explanation for why she lied to him. (It still makes Poe’s blood boil, and he vacillates between grief over missing her and anger and hurt over her deception on a regular rotation.) Since that is unlikely to happen, it’s not really worth considering.

The situation is what it is, and he’s made his choice.

****

The masquerade ball is a raging success and it hasn’t even officially started yet. Designers and architects have turned the entire inner courtyard of the castle into a riotous display of color and innovative engineering. They’d built a wooden platform specifically for dancing, large enough to hold at least two-dozen dancers – more, depending on the dance – and painted it crimson and gold using a paint infused with something extra that makes it gleam in the flickering lights.

The King’s model ship stands proudly on one side, surrounded by spinning shiny blue sheets of fabric meant to mimic waves and a group of clearly impressed guests. Cauldrons and torches stand no more than ten feet apart, ensuring that the area is well lit and casting a deep, golden glow over everything, and Poe can see that over the wall in the garden extra lamps have been lit as well. The guests are dressed in their finest clothes with an array of masks ranging from simple to ornate, and banners and flags hang from almost every wall. It’s probably the most extravagant party Poe’s ever been too, other than the occasional wedding and his father’s sixtieth birthday celebration, and everywhere he looks there seems to be something new to discover.

“Prince Dameron.” A hand lands solidly on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. “We meet again. I was surprised to receive your invitation, although not altogether displeased. Hopefully we didn’t give your man too much of a fright the other night.”

Poe thinks of Snap’s expression two nights ago when he’d returned from delivering Poe’s message to the thieves’ camp and chuckles. “I’m sure a little shock was good for him. I’m glad you decided to come, Hondo.” He turns to face the other man and holds out his hand for a friendly shake.

He’s dressed like a pirate, complete with a wide-brimmed hat and a feather embellishment and a scarlet sash at his waist, and a quick glance around tells Poe that the rest of his men are similarly styled. The look suits them perfectly, and it makes Poe’s own expensive outfit seem gaudy by comparison. He envies them their comfort and mobility – tugging at his collar for the millionth time.

“And miss an opportunity to visit the castle legally? No, no, no,” Hondo shakes his head while making a clicking noise with his tongue, “A man does not refuse such a gift. Thank you.”

“You’re going to rob us, aren’t you?” Poe deadpans, eyeing him warily and folding his arms over his chest, and Hondo throws back his head and laughs.

“Now what kind of guests would we be if we did that? Besides,” Hondo grabs one of the tumblers of wine off a passing tray, tossing back half of it in one swallow, “There’s no skill in a theft like that.”

“Skill,” Poe snorts, “Right.”

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Hondo smirks. “A man must take pride in his work, my friend, whether that’s your career, your hobbies, or making love.”

Poe nearly chokes on his own tongue, no doubt Hondo’s intended reaction, and he can feel his ears growing hotter the longer the other man laughs at him – drawing the attention of a few curious onlookers and one or two would-be eavesdroppers.

In the distance, Poe spots Snap sneaking off towards the gardens with Karé (who he'd explicitly told his father _must_ be invited), and he shares a knowing smirk with Jess when she catches his eye from the other side of the dance floor. Anything to avoid looking at Hondo again and giving him the satisfaction of seeing him blush. 

“Tell me,” Hondo continues, still chuckling, greatly amused by Poe’s embarrassment, “Where is our lovely Countess tonight? I was hoping to speak with her.” 

“She’s, uh,” He rubs his sternum, right over the steady ache in his heart, “She’s not here.”

Hondo hums under his breath and finishes his wine. Gone is any trace of his earlier laughter, replaced by a sigh and look of resigned acceptance. “I expected as much.”

That takes him by surprise, and Poe looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “You did?” Could Hondo have known something he did not? It’s possible. In his line of work, he could have heard all manor of rumors and gossip. And he did speak to Kira alone for those few minutes while Poe fetched their horse that night in the forest. Perhaps she said something to him.

“I knew when she told you, your little romantic interlude would come to an end. It’s a pity, really.” Not satisfied with the wine, he pulls a flask out from under his shirt, unscrewing the lid and lifting it to his lips.

“She didn’t tell me,” Poe corrects him, catching a whiff of whiskey on Hondo’s breath, “I found out from the Baroness de Tico.”

“Ah,” Hondo nods, slipping the flask back into its hiding place after offering a sip to Poe, “Well, I can hardly blame her for keeping her secret. What you have to offer is so much better than the alternative. Shame it didn’t work out, although I can’t say I’m surprised. I warned her this would happen.”

“It’s too bad she didn’t listen to your warning,” Poe grumbles. Perhaps if she had, they wouldn’t be in this mess now. They could have come up with a plan to end her engagement together and then they would have been free to get married.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t accept her,” He corrects sharply. 

Poe wants to follow up on that statement – wants to ask Hondo what he means and how on earth he was supposed to “accept” her secret engagement – but he can see his father trying to catch his attention from up on the stage next to Leia, and knows that means it’s time to cut the conversation short. “Yes, well, I should probably join my father. Enjoy the food and the dancing.”

“I most certainly shall.” With a faint smile, Hondo walks off in the direction of the buffet table, and Poe watches him go for a second before heading in the opposite direction.

The stage is really more of a small platform at the head of the dance floor set aside to give the king and queen a place to sit and somewhere to speak where they can be easily seen and heard, and Poe hops onto it and crosses to stand beside Leia – giving her a reassuring smile when he catches the worried look in her eye.

He doesn’t want her pity.

Now that he’s here, Kes moves to stand at the front of the stage, pausing for a second to look back at Poe. “Last chance,” he says, waiting to see if Poe’s going to change his mind, but Poe firmly shakes his head. With a sigh, Kes turns and raises his arms to get everyone’s attention. “Friends, honored guests, it gives me great pleasure on this festive occasion, not only to honor Master Skywalker – who seems to have disappeared –“ He makes a noise in the back of his throat that's half-annoyed, half-amused, and Poe looks around in surprise. _Luke isn’t here?_ “But also to tell you of a long-awaited decision. So, without further ado, it is my great privilege to announce the engagement of our son, Prince Dameron, to –“

There’s a strange commotion in the crowd, a bustling of activity that has people slowly turning away from the king back towards the entrance, and in the distance – underneath the archway and its banners and flags – appears an angel.

No. Better than an angel.

It’s _Kira_.

Poe can hardly believe his eyes, and he blinks a few times to make sure he's not hallucinating. But she's not wearing a mask, and she doesn't disappear when he closes his eyes, so it must be her.

She’s standing at the entrance right between two of the biggest cauldrons, and the light from the fire makes her glow with the radiance of the sun. Her dazzling silver dress shimmering beautifully while the translucent butterfly wings of her costume sparkle behind her.

It’s no wonder the crowd would rather look at her than Kes. She’s absolutely stunning, and he’s awestruck. His jaw having fallen somewhere down by his feet.

Almost without conscious thought, Poe reaches out to stop his father's announcement with a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the curious look he shoots him. A few of the courtiers closest to them pick up on his reaction, following his gaze to look at Kira with increased interest, but he pays them no mind.

She’s _here._ She came back to him.

With a grin Poe rushes down the steps and across the courtyard full of guests to greet her. Grateful when they part and provide a clear pathway for him, leaving him free to run until he’s standing in front of her – breathless and amazed.

Up close, the dress is truly a work of art, but only because of the woman wearing it. She makes everything around her better, and Poe feels like his heart is the lightest it’s ever been - enough to fly away with the help of her wings. Despite their audience and the gasps he hears, he clasps both of her hands in his and brings them up to his mouth for a kiss. “The Baroness said you were getting married.”

“No, that’s not true,” Kira shakes her head, giving his fingers a quick squeeze, “But there is something I have to tell you now before another word is spoken.”

Overwhelmed and feeling suddenly lightheaded, Poe’s shoulders sag forward and he closes he eyes to shut out the dizziness. “Then you’re not engaged?” He breathes, nearly pressing his forehead to hears before remembering where they are and regaining some semblance of decorum.

“No, I’m not.”

He cracks his eyes open to find her smiling softly, her adorable dimples barely peeking out at the sides of her mouth, and it’s exactly the balm his soul had needed after yesterday morning. “So this,” He gestures between them with a growing smile, “Was real after all. You weren’t deceiving me.” The sigh is involuntary, his relief acute, and he huffs out a pained laugh. “I was about to make the worst mistake of my life. Come, there are two people I want you to meet.”

He tries to lead her back towards the stage where his parents are waiting with matching levels of astonishment, but she plants her feet and tugs on his hand. “Poe, no, I must speak with you first.”

Too giddy to stand still, Poe laces their fingers together and tugs, grinning playfully when she lets him start leading her back down the makeshift aisle. “Whatever it is, my answer is yes.”

“Wait,” She whispers urgently, “Wait, please.”

“Oh, look! I invited Hondo and his people.” Poe points at where the group are standing around the tankards of ale and waves. Hondo catches them looking and raises his pint towards them, genuinely smiling when he catches sight of Kira.

She waves as well, before wrapping that hand around his elbow and trying to bring him to a stop. “You need to know –“

The harsh jerk of his arm is too strong to be from her, and Poe spins around to find Kira being wrenched backwards as she cries out - the Baroness ripping one of the wings off the back of her dress in a fit of rage while Paige stands close by looking smug.

“How dare you!” The Baroness cries, tossing the ruined fabric to the ground and stomping on it before grabbing Kira by the shoulders and shaking her violently.

“Madam, contain yourself!” Poe quickly moves to Kira’s side, sticking his arm out in front of her to force the Baroness to back off. But she doesn’t go far, stepping away only enough to glare furiously at her young cousin.

“She is an impostor, Sire.” The Baroness jabs her finger towards Kira. “Her name is Rey Kenobi and she has been a servant in my home for the past ten years!”

“No!” Kira cries out, shaking her head. “Don’t do this!”

Kes, who had apparently left the stage the moment the Baroness attacked, comes up to stand beside Poe – raising himself to his full height and striking an imposing figure. “A servant? Is this some kind of joke?”

It must be. Some last-ditch attempt by the Baroness to stop him from marrying Kira so that he’ll be free to marry Paige. But that will never happen, Kira or no Kira, and it’s time somebody put a stop to her malicious conspiracies and intrigues. “Baroness you are on dangerous ground!”

“Ask her yourself,” The Baroness replies haughtily, taking Kira by the shoulders again with a harsh grip and spinning her around to face the king, “She’s a grasping, devious little pretender! I tried to spare you from discovering this painful truth, but now it’s my duty, Your Highness, to expose her as the covetous hoax she is!”

Poe desperately looks to Kira for answers, pleading with her when she won’t meet his eyes. “Tell these women who you are!” He urges, nausea building in his stomach. “Tell them!”

_Tell them you haven’t been using me this past week. That this hasn’t been all been part of some grand scheme._

Kira sniffs and finally looks up at him, blinking back tears. She opens her mouth, but before she can speak the Baroness shoves her to her knees. “Bow before royalty, you insolent fraud!”

“My god, it can’t be true.” He drops to his knees in front of her, noting the tears clinging to her eyelashes and wiping away a stray that’s made its way down her cheek. “Kira?”

_Please_ , he silently begs, _please don’t say this has all been a lie._

Swallowing thickly, she slowly begins to nod, and each tilt of her head feels like another blow. “de Kryze was my adoptive mother’s surname. I am what she says. My name is Rey Kenobi.” With a sob of defeat, she ducks her head again, and Poe stumbles as he stands back up.

The devastation is so thorough it deprives him of all thought, and it takes a solid minute before he’s able to form a proper sentence. Suddenly it’s all making sense. “The apple?” He asks, touching his forehead and thinking of the bold young woman he’d met that morning in the Tico’s field. A young woman with a quick tongue and an even quicker arm, and long brown hair that fell around her face like a curtain. “That was _you_?”

Kira scrambles to her feet, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “I can explain. I _came here_ to explain. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“First, you’re engaged,” Poe cuts her off, speaking more to himself than anyone else, “And now you’re a servant? It’s one lie after the other. I’ve heard enough.”

He turns to go. Where, he doesn’t know, only that he has to get far away from here. Far away from the unsympathetic, gawking crowds, from the whispering courtiers who see only a potential opportunity to exploit, from the confused, yet pitying looks on his father and stepmother’s faces. And far away from the woman he’d been so sure was different. The last person he would have ever suspected of deception.

Her hand catches the fabric of his sleeve in another attempt to stop him. “Poe, please!”

The crowd erupts in shock at her casual use of his given name, and something inside him hardens. A wall assembling around his heart that’s never been there before. “Do not address me so informally, madame.” He pivots on the heel of his foot to face her with a cold glare. “I am a prince, and you –“ His voice cracks, the pain on her face as raw and vivid as his own, but he refuses to remain under her spell any longer, “- You are just like them.” He gestures to the Baroness and Paige, and Kira reels as if she’s been hit.

“I’m not. I'm _not_. I –“ She chokes, her body trembling. “Hondo was right. He said you would turn on me when you found out.”

A stab of guilt lances through his chest, but Poe buries it beneath his resentment. Had Hondo known about this? “ _Pity it didn’t work out”_ he’d said only earlier tonight. Maybe he’d been in on it all along. Maybe the two of them had been co-conspirators in an attempt to steal the crown.

Somewhere in the back of his head, his brain tells him this is irrational. That this is all one big misunderstanding and if he screws his eyes shut tight enough, tomorrow when he wakes this will all have been nothing more than a nightmare. But he’s not asleep, and the woman he’d fallen in love with – the woman who he thought was falling in love with him, too – has turned out to be no different than all the other women after him for his title and money. She is the one who’s done wrong, not him, and he refuses to give in to his guilt or feel any sympathy for her tears. “You should leave.”

Crying in earnest now, Kira – no – _Rey,_ turns and runs back in the direction from which she came. Covering her mouth with her hand to hide her sobs. And it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to chase after her and apologize.

She runs past Master Luke and Finn, who Poe is surprised to see accompanying the old man into the party, and both men lurch towards her in unison – reaching out as if to stop her and shouting her name.

When she doesn’t stop, Luke tries to follow her. But she’s surprisingly fast, and despite her stumble on the gravel outside the gates, she’s long gone before Luke has any hope of catching up her.

Poe barely catches a glimpse of Luke bending down to retrieve something, before his vision is blocked by an irate Finn.

He's not much taller than Poe, but that doesn't stop him from grabbing him by the shirt and lifting him in the air, high enough that Poe can barely touch the ground with his toes. “What did you do!?”

“What did _I_ do?” Poe shouts back. “I didn’t do anything! She –“

“Do you know what she’s been through in the last twenty-four hours? Everything she endured because of you? I warned you not to hurt her and you promised!” Finn tightens his grip, and Poe’s already uncomfortable collar twists even tighter, making it difficult to breathe.

Still, Poe remains stubborn. Afraid to let his hurt and righteous anger fade for even a second. Worried about the emptiness and sorrow he might find in its wake. “Her? What about me? She deceived me, Finn, and for all I know you were in on it, too!”

“You bastard.” Finn sets him down and releases his shirt, only to retract his fist.

Poe shuts his eyes, preparing for the blow, but it never lands – instead he finds the king’s guard surrounding them and taking hold of Finn, trapping his arms behind his back while he fights to break free.

“You just assaulted a member of the royal family,” The captain states, grunting when Finn elbows him in the stomach, “ _And_ a member of the royal guard. I am placing you under arrest.”

“Wait.” Poe raises his hand and they all stop struggling, waiting for his command. Massaging his neck, he waves off the guardsmen. “Don’t arrest him. Let him go.” He's not going to throw a man in jail for defending his friend, no matter how upset he is.

“But, sire! This man is a traitor!" The captain gapes at him, tightening his hold on Finn, but Poe jerks his head – gesturing for him to do as he says – and he slowly lets Finn go.

Shrugging both shoulders to shove the captain back, Finn steps forward again, although this time he doesn’t get close enough for Poe to feel in any danger. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

Somehow his muttered words are worse than the shouting, and as he walks away Poe feels a gnawing sense of regret.

_Maybe…_

No.

Spinning around, Poe marches through the crowd with a glare on his face that dares anyone to try and stop him and leaves them all behind, including Snap, Karé, and Jess. Not even stopping when he hears Leia softly say his name as he passes.

He needs to be alone.

This doesn’t count as hiding.

Sure, he’s high up on the castle ramparts, sitting alone with his back against the wall and his head pressed to his knees – probably getting dirt on his brand new trousers – but he’s not _hiding_. He’s just… taking a break from the crowd for a little while. No one can blame him for that. Not after that firework display earlier.

People will have questions and they’ll want answers. The rumor mill is no doubt already working overtime to make sure everyone in the kingdom will know about Prince Dameron and his secret lover by morning. There’s bound to be whispers and side-eyes and muttered comments and gossip everywhere he goes, and while Poe’s used to being the center of attention, he hates that this time it’s about something so serious.

But that still doesn’t mean he’s hiding.

He’s isn’t alone for too long, though. Eventually he hears the sound of footsteps tapping across the hard stone, and he looks up to find Luke glaring down at him with an expression he never would have thought the old man was capable of.

“What have you done?” Luke hisses, pointing in the direction of the party. As if Poe didn’t immediately guess the subject of the conversation the minute he showed up.

There goes any hope he may have had of Luke being on his side.

“I have been born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations.” Poe stares at the fly crawling up the opposite wall, pronouncing each word slowly through gritted teeth. Leia had told him as much and Kira ( _no_ – he’s going to have to stop thinking of her that way) had said practically the same thing as well, Luke should be pleased to hear he’s taking their advice so seriously.

Instead Luke’s frown lines deepen as he grunts profanities. “Bullshit. Complete bullshit.”

“You’re out of line, old man.” Poe warns, glaring back at him, but his threat holds no weight and Luke knows it.

“No. _You_ are out of line,” Luke shouts, “Do you have any idea what that girl went through to get here tonight?”

That’s the second person asking him to consider Rey’s feelings over his own, and Poe balks at the request. That girl is a stranger to him now. “She lied to me.”

“She came to tell you the truth, and you fed her to the wolves!”

The accusation hurts, and Poe shoots to his feet. “What do you know? You build flying machines and you walk on water and practice your ancient religion, and yet you know nothing about life!”

Luke laughs derisively, shaking his head and giving Poe a look that makes him feel like nothing more than a surly teenager. “And what do you know about life, then, hmm? If you’re so wise.”

“I know that Kira, Rey, _whoever_ she is, purposely lied about who she was to manipulate me. She’s no better than all the other courtiers down there throwing themselves at me for wealth or status or power.” The words burn Poe’s throat, making his chest ache and his tongue feel heavy and bringing tears to his eyes, but he spits them out anyway. Willing his uncle to understand how much he’s hurting.

“Impressive,” Luke sighs, leveling him with a solemn look, “Every word you just said was wrong. I know that a life without love is no life at all, and Rey Kenobi loves you.”

“And love without trust?” Poe asks sadly, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall, “What of that?”

“She’s your match, Poe,” Luke answers simply, as if that’s the answer to everything.

But it isn’t, because life isn’t that simple. You can’t just throw everything aside because you think someone _might_ be your soulmate. Especially if your feelings were born out of a lie. There are rules to these things, especially for the crown prince, other people he has to consider – not to mention the safety and security of his country. What if he decided to throw caution to the wind and marry Rey anyway and she _did_ turn out to be some sort of con artist? What then?

“I am a servant to my crown,” He quietly replies, inhaling deeply and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from throwing up or sobbing – he isn’t sure which. Isn’t this what everyone wants? For him to accept his title and behave in a manner befitting it? “I have made my decision, and I will not yield.” 

Luke’s shoulders sag and he shakes his head, disappointment radiating off him in waves. “Then you don’t deserve her.”

He walks over to the wall and sets something down on top of it before walking away, and Poe turns to find an ornately embellished glass slipper shining silver in the moonlight. It must have been the thing Luke picked up off the ground when Rey was running away. The only evidence left that she ever existed at all.

Rain starts to fall. Big fat drops that splatter against the ground and are a sure sign that a torrent is about to be unleashed, and he can hear the servants below shouting for tents to be put up over the party, but Poe stays where he is. Let the rain fall. Let him be soaked and his fine clothes be ruined and his body catch a chill. What does he care?

He picks up the shoe and crushes it against his chest and sinks back to the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny when you adapt movies because you start to realize that sections that take only 10-20 minutes on film take multiple chapters when written down in a book. Which is to say, I thought the angst in this story would be minimal??? And now??? 
> 
> Sorry!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey resolves to be strong in the face of heartbreak, and then things take an even more devastating turn.

****

Unkar grunts obnoxiously at her feet, sniffing around and trying to steal more than his allotted portion for breakfast. The ground is wet and muddy from the rainstorm the night before and as the giant pig tries to shove his smaller family members aside he kicks up great big clumps of dirt towards Rey, splattering her shoes and the hem of her skirts. “Ugh,” She jumps back a second too late, “You’re a brute, you know that? A big bully!”

Happily ignoring her, Unkar continues to eat up all the food in the trough, and so Rey is left with no choice but to forcibly shove him out of the way so that the other animals don’t starve – doing some unladylike grunting and groaning of her own in the process.

At over 700 pounds he isn’t an easy creature to move, especially if he doesn’t want to go, and Rey has to lean her entire body weight against him to get him to even budge an inch, placing both palms against his side and digging into the slippery mud. At first it seems as if he’s going to be amenable, stepping backwards and away from the trough, but then without warning he lunges forward and Rey cries out – falling onto her hands and knees into the mud with a horrible splat.

“Fine then!” She shouts, struggling to her feet and wiping what she can off her hands and onto her already ruined dress. “Have it your way! I should have sold you to the Hutts when I had the chance.” Next time that awful man comes around with an offer, she won’t refuse.

Rey marches over to the wooden fence and climbs up and over it, dropping down onto the other side and feeling grateful for the hard earth underneath her toes that holds no risk of making her slip and fall again. Her back twinges and throbs with the effort, a constant reminder of everything that’s happened the past few days, but she only allows herself to close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath before standing up straight and continuing on to her next chore.

The morning breeze is crisp and cool, the earthy scent of petrichor still lingering in the air, and in the trees she can hear the starlings twittering happily amongst each other while they eat their breakfast – oblivious to the struggles of the humans far beneath them. It’s a sweet, jolly sound, and she tries to let it boost her spirits.

It’s hard to imagine that less than twelve hours ago she was at the castle dressed up like a princess and holding hands with the prince. She could almost persuade herself that it was all a dream, except for the soaking wet dress hanging in the pantry and the missing glass slipper and the constant thrumming ache just underneath her ribs that won’t go away no matter how hard she works to distract herself.

Poe had looked so handsome last night. So _regal._ A vision of princely splendor in his white and gold with his wild curls tamed to perfection. Like a painting – meant to be admired, but not touched. So unlike the Poe she’d come to know. The whole ensemble providing a physical reminder of just how far above her he is in both wealth and station.

Perhaps some part of her relishes the mud and dirt and sweat this morning. Tempting her out of the house before dawn and encouraging her to continue working even when she’s coated in the stuff. It helps ground her and tether her to reality.

She’d been so swept up in the magical impossibility of it all, believing for a moment that Master Luke and her friends were right – that going to Poe was the right choice, that he’d understand, that everything would work out - she’d forgotten herself and what she knows to be true.

_Those stories are fairytales, and fairytales are just lies that children tell themselves to feel better at night. They aren’t a solid foundation for building a future._

It was foolish of her to forget so easily.

She should have listened to Hondo's warnings. Then maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much when Poe had called her a liar and sent her away.

( _She should have told Poe the truth right from the start,_ a small voice reminds her, and Rey almost chokes on the guilt and regret lodged inside her throat.) 

Better to stick to hoping for things that have a possibility of happening. Like the Baroness marrying Paige off to some wealthy suitor and leaving the manor to Rey before moving far away. That’s been her dream for a long time now, and she won’t get distracted by nonsense again.

The sound of a throat clearing makes her look up from the weeds she’d started to pull in the vegetable patch (no matter how many times she clears the area, new ones seem to sprout every day), and Rey’s surprised to find Rose standing awkwardly nearby. She must have come straight down after getting dressed, bypassing breakfast, and that alone is shocking. Rey can’t imagine refusing food for anything.

“Do you need something?”

Rose picks at the sleeves of her silky sage green dress, and Rey tries not to remember how it felt when Poe kissed her for the first time while she was wearing that same gown. The sensation of his soft lips pressed against her own still as vivid as it was that night in front of the bonfire.

“You and the prince?” She finally whispers, eyes darting towards the manor even though they’re far enough away that no one inside could possibly hear them without shouting. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Well, it was a secret.” Rey turns back towards the task at hand, tugging on a particularly stubborn root and digging at the soil with her fingernails until it wrenches free.

“Of course!” Rose nods vigorously. “I understand, I just wish… I mean… I would have helped, if you’d told me.”

There’s a certain timidity to her voice that has Rey looking back up at her, and for a second she feels angry. A burst of irrationality that makes her want to lash out, to toss back all the other times in the last decade Rose could have helped her _here._ But it’s gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by a more patient understanding. She looks guilty and sad, as if she regrets that Rey didn’t trust her enough to tell her, and so with a sigh Rey gently shakes her head. “It’s alright. You _did_ help, even if you didn’t know it. I, um, I may have borrowed one or two of your dresses. I hope you don’t mind.”

A wide smile bursts across Rose’s face and she clasps her hands together. “Not at all! I’m glad you took them. You couldn’t have a secret rendezvous with the prince looking like –“ She clamps her mouth shut, blushing crimson, and Rey takes pity on her by laughing.

It’s true. Prince Dameron never would have fallen in love with her if he’d known who she was when she was assaulting him with apples in the orchard.

After a few seconds, when it seems as though Rey isn’t going to get angry about her comment on the state of her dress, Rose starts laughing, too. The two of them giggling like school girls and sharing secret conspiratorial glances every time they peek back at the manor. Both of them equally afraid of being caught and yet bolstered by the camaraderie and friendship.

“I know –“ Rose starts, struggling to choose her words, “I mean – I saw how it ended, last night, and it was awful. But before that, was it an adventure?” Her eyes are sparkling, eager, and Rey’s laughter softens into a sad smile. 

“Yeah, it was.”

“Were you in love with him?” Rose asks almost cautiously, sitting down on the edge of a large rock nearby, and Rey sucks in a deep breath.

Such a simple question with such a complicated answer.

“I thought I was,” She nods slowly, picturing Poe playing the lute in front of the bonfire and dancing and laughing so freely with Hondo and his men before thinking of how he’d looked last night – so stiff and imposing, “But maybe you can’t love someone if you don’t know who they really are. Maybe both of us were pretending.”

Rose hums, but her eyebrows are pinched and her mouth turned down at the corners, and Rey knows she doesn't understand. Her beau is about as honest and straightforward as they come, and Rose has never had any reason to hide who she is. 

“Good morning, ladies.” Finn comes sauntering across the fields, as if summoned by her thoughts, hopping over the fence with one arm like it’s the easiest thing in the world and tossing an adoring smile towards Rose when she jumps to her feet and beams at him. “You’re both up early.”

Normally Rey wouldn’t question his sudden appearance. He’s often up before the dawn, either to paint or to wander around finding new subjects to paint later – taking advantage of whatever respite he can find from Master Phasma’s overbearing presence – but today, of all days, it seems suspicious.

Especially when he pulls a hot cinnamon bun wrapped in paper from his satchel – her favorite.

“What are you doing here?” She eyes the gift suspiciously when he reaches out to give it to her, refusing to accept until he’s explained himself even thought the heavenly scent is already drifting towards her nose and making her stomach grumble loud enough for them both to hear.

“Can’t I do something nice for my best friend?” Finn replies, looking far too innocent, and Rey cocks her head and folds her arms over her chest.

“Yes, but you don’t usually look so suspicious when you do it.”

“I’m not suspicious!” He splutters, turning towards Rose who hasn’t taken her eyes off him since he arrived. “Am I, Rose?”

“I don’t think so,” She instantly agrees, and Rey has to look away to hide her rolling eyes.

“See?” Finn turns back to her, all but shoving the treat into her hands. “Don’t be so quick to judge, peanut.”

Rey peels back the paper, careful not to touch any of the bread with her dirty hands, and takes a bite – humming happily in the back of her throat and letting her eyelids flutter closed as the warm spices burst across her tongue. “You don’t have to pretend.” She swallows, going back for a second bite before her first one's even chewed all the way. “I know you’re here to check up on me.”

Finn shares another guilty look with Rose and shoves his hands inside his pockets. “I just thought, after last night, you might need some cheering up. That’s all.”

Rey accepts his hand and stands up, brushing off any loose dirt and offering him a bite of the bun. No matter who was buying for whom, they’ve always shared, and today is no different. He tries to refuse at first, but she fixes him with a look and he quickly succumbs, taking the smallest bite he can without earning her annoyance. “I appreciate it, and I’ll never refuse a cinnamon bun, but I’m fine.” It’s his turn to give her a look, and she rolls her eyes. “I _will_ be fine. I promise.”

She is Rey Kenobi. Strong. Scrappy. Kind. Loyal. A fighter. And she does not _mope_.

This has been a setback, she’ll admit, and she’s not naïve enough to think that this particular kind of pain won’t take a while to heal, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to wander around listless and crying. She’s going to pick herself up, work hard, focus on the people who already love her unconditionally, and with any luck someday be free of the Baroness and her spiteful eldest daughter.

“I know you will.” Finn throws his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close to his side. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean I won’t always want to protect you.”

The urge to tease him is there on the tip of her tongue, but Rey swallows it back when she sees the genuine emotion in his dark brown eyes, choosing instead to lean up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Finn. Now what are we going to do about the two of you?” She steals back her cinnamon bun, taking another bite before gesturing between him and Rose, and they both smile in unison.

“We’re not sure yet,” Finn admits, reaching for Rose's hand and lacing their fingers together, “It’s a difficult situation. An apprentice salary isn’t much to start a family on.”

“And that’s supposing we could get my mother’s approval,” Rose adds, “Which I think we all know isn’t going to happen.”

“Not unless I inherit a lot of money from a dead relative.” Finn jokes.

“A live one would do just as well,” Rey teases, “Do you have one of those?”

“Just you,” Finn shoots back, “What can you offer me?”

“A rather obnoxious pig, if you’re in the market for one.”

“No, thank you,” Rose replies with a demure smile, “I saw what he did to you earlier. I’m not above being a wife who has to work hard, but I’d prefer not to have such a vindictive pig under my jurisdiction.”

“I don’t blame you,” Rey muses, holding out her skirts as evidence, “It’s a pity Unkar didn’t go missing along with everything else around the house. It might have saved me an extra load of laundry.”

“I have it on good authority that before your rather embarrassing debut the Prince was about to choose Paige to be his bride.” Rose and Finn drop each other’s hands instantly, the sound of the Baroness’s voice calling down to them from the upper level of the garden sending a chill through all three friends and making them stand at attention, guards raised. “Men are so fickle, aren’t they? One minute they’re spouting sonnets, and the next you’re back to being the hired help. Although I must say I’ve never seen you quite this dedicated in your chores.”

Rey scrunches her eyes shut tight, balling her hands into fists at her side and trying not to react – especially to the part about sonnets (she’ll never be able to read poetry again, that's for sure). She’d naively hoped that the Baroness would leave her alone this morning, let her be – free to do her chores in peace, but she should have known that woman wouldn’t be able to rest until she’d antagonized her as much as humanly possible. Rey knows she’ll never be forgiven for thwarting Paige’s attempt at royalty.

( _Was he really going to choose Paige? After everything?_ – No. She can’t think about that now.)

Sharing a warning look with Finn and Rose, she picks up her gardening basket and heads up the hill towards the Baroness. “What makes you think I do any of this for you?”

“Well my, my, my,” She drops the flower she’d been pulling apart piece by piece and brushes any invisible dirt and grass off her pristine hands, “Aren’t we feisty this morning?”

The Baroness steps in front of her, blocking Rey’s path to the barn, and she pointedly keeps her eyes fixed on the building in the distance as she says, “Let me pass.”

Maybe if she refuses to show any emotions or be rankled by the Baroness’s goading, she’ll make it through this conversation relatively unscathed.

“You’ve brought this on yourself, you know.” The Baroness smirks, sticking up her nose and arching one of her eyebrows. “What else am I to do with such a willful, disobedient creature?”

_Creature_. Rey mentally recoils at the callous term, but doesn’t say anything – instead attempting to push past the Baroness again. “I have work to do.”

Finn and Rose emerge behind her on the path, standing far enough apart to hopefully avoid suspicion, and although she seems surprised, the Baroness quickly gestures towards them with the wave of her hand. “Let the others handle it.”

With a huff of annoyance, Rey finally manages to step around her stepmother and move towards the barn. “Don’t you understand? You’ve won! Go! Move into your palace and leave us be!”

“ _You_ are not my problem anymore.”

The words are cold. Harsh. Each one weighted for maximum injury. And Rey blinks back the fiery hot tears threatening to form as she turns around to face the sneering indifference of the woman standing across from her. “Is that what I am? Your _problem_? I have done everything you’ve ever asked me to do and still you deny me the only thing I ever wanted.”

“Oh?” The Baroness asks mockingly, pretending to be coy, “And what was that?”

“What do you think?” Rey goes quiet, feeling suddenly vulnerable and hating it. “You are the only mother I have ever really known. Was there a time, even in its smallest measurement, that you loved me at all?”

Emotions flash across her stepmother’s face and for a second Rey almost thinks she sees… not regret, exactly, but some sort of mixture of guilt and shame, but then they’re gone – replaced by that same haughty mask that’s plagued her ever since childhood. “How can anyone love a pebble in their shoe?”

A slap would have hurt less. 

“Mother!” Rose gasps.

“Be quiet!” The Baroness snaps, shooting daggers at her youngest daughter, and Rey can see the scowl forming on Finn’s lips. He’s gearing up to argue and it isn’t going to be pretty, so Rey opens her mouth to stop him. Like it or not, the Baroness holds power over all three of them – she could quite literally ruin their lives if provoked.

At that moment, Paulette appears from around the front of the house, waving her arms above her head to catch their attention and saving them from what was sure to be an explosive encounter. “Rey! M’Lady! Oh, come and see!” She gestures behind her, pointing and hopping up and down. “It’s back! All of it!”

Grateful for the interruption, Rey takes off running in Paulette’s direction and she can hear the others following suit (although not without the requisite chastisement from the Baroness when Rose tries to run, too, something a lady should never do). Skidding to a stop in the courtyard when she sees two large wagons full of the household items that had gone missing over the past few months.

There’s a crew of workmen unloading each piece and carrying them into the house, following the directions of a stunned Maurice as he explains where everything is supposed to go, and Paulette and Louise are standing by the door with matching expressions of astonishment and joy.

Rey starts to smile too, reminding herself to breathe when she realizes she’s in danger of passing out from shock, but then she sees him.

Sir Kylo Ren steps out of his black carriage accompanied by his knights and crosses the courtyard towards her, looking entirely too pleased with himself. And with every step that brings him closer Rey feels her heart beat faster and her stomach tie itself tighter into knots.

This can’t be good.

“Ah,” The Baroness sweeps past her with a flourish and greets him with a kiss on each cheek, oblivious to the fact that this show of vain affection seems to irritate him, “Sir Kylo, right on time.”

“It’s all here, Baroness,” He replies coolly, his deep baritone voice sending an unpleasant shudder up Rey’s spine, “Right down to the very last candlestick.”

_Wait_. “Father’s books?” Rey asks, sickened by the realization, “His paintings? You sold them to _him_?” Her father would be horrified to know his treasured possessions had been sold to such a horrible man. And for what? To buy jewels and gowns that they don’t need while the farm suffers?

“Yes,” The Baroness sniffs, “And now they’re back. I couldn’t very well have us looking like paupers when the King arrives.”

The King… right. She thinks that Poe will be arriving soon to propose to Paige, and for all Rey knows, she could be right. Still, she can’t help but be grateful to have her father’s things back, however dearly bought. “Thank you, Sir Kylo,” She says begrudgingly, turning towards him with an obligatory curtsy, “This means the world to us.”

A strange look comes over him and his eyes flash with heat. “I’m a businessman, Rey, not a philanthropist.”

“I don’t understand.” She furrows her brow, looking at the Baroness in confusion, and dread settles low in her gut when she gets a smug smile in return.

“I couldn’t very well have you around distracting the Prince, now could I? Think logically, Rey.”

The corner of Kylo’s mouth quirks up, coming closer to a genuine smile than anything else she’s ever seen him wear, but if anything that only makes her more nervous. “The Baroness and I have come to an arrangement.”

Paige emerges from the front door holding an apple and smirking at the display in front of her, and the Baroness smiles conspiratorially at her eldest before turning back towards Rey with a sneer. “You,” She points, “For all this. Although, I do think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

Two of the knights come up on either side of her and take her by the arms as Rey realizes what she’s saying. It’s a trade. She’s being traded. Given away.

To Kylo Ren.

“No!” She screams, struggling against the tight arms wrapped around her. “No! You can’t do this!”

She hears more shouting behind her and can turn far enough to see Finn running towards them and punching one of the other knights, apparently having either heard or caught on to what’s happening. The sight of him fills her with hope, and Rey stomps down hard on the toes of one of her captors, causing him to loosen his grip enough for her to slip her arm out and shove the heel of her palm up into the nose of the other knight holding her – resulting in a nasty sounding crack and a scream as blood starts pouring from his nose.

Now free, she can see Paulette and Louise being shoved to the ground by another of of the knights while Maurice struggles and fails to fight him off with his walking stick, and she pivots to run to their aid – intending to grab one of her father’s swords poking out from the back of the wagon and save them. But another pair of arms wraps around her, these ones stronger than the others and encased in thick black cloth, and she’s lifted easily off the ground despite squirming and wriggling to get away.

“You belong with me, Rey,” Kylo grunts into her ear, “You’re mine now.”

"No!" 

He starts to carry her towards his carriage, moving easily – as if not the least bit bothered by her struggling to break away - but Finn jumps in front of their path holding her father’s old sword out in front of him and glaring at Kylo.

“Let her go, Ren.” He shouts, gritting his teeth to hide the way Rey knows they must be chattering.

Kylo’s grip around her waist tightens like a vise, and Rey struggles to breathe. “Move out of my way.”

“No.” Finn shakes his head, taking a fighting stance and digging his heels into the dirt. “Let her go.”

“Kuruk!” Kylo calls one of his men who had been beating back Maurice, and he immediately leaves the old man to stand at his master’s side.

Without a word Kylo hands her to Kuruk, expertly tying a rope around her wrists before making sure the knight’s arms are wrapped securely around her own and that she can’t get away, then draws his own sword and moves in front of Finn. “You don’t want to do this, boy. The girl is mine, bought and paid for. You have no legal claim upon her. Walk away now and I’ll let you leave with your life.”

“You can’t just _buy_ people,” Finn shoots back with disgust, “And the only way I’m leaving is if Rey comes with me.”

“So be it.”

Kylo moves swiftly, his skill with a blade evident from his very first step, and Rey knows with unshakeable certainty that all of her years play-fighting with Finn haven’t prepared him nearly enough for this moment. Although he fights back with passion and a level of fearlessness that makes her proud, he’s obviously outmatched, struggling to keep up with Kylo’s almost perfectly choreographed attacks - brutal and terrifying in nature - and Rey stops fighting Kuruk’s hold to watch with mounting horror as Finn stumbles trying to parry Kylo’s blows. Each sharp clang of metal smashing against metal making her flinch and shake.

Finn manages to duck out of the way of Kylo’s sword and whip his own around fast enough to cut Kylo’s shoulder, but that only seems to make the other man angry and strengthen his resolve.

“Stop!” She cries, although who she’s pleading with, she doesn’t know. “Stop, please!”

“Don’t hurt him!” Rose screams, earning a swift rebuke from her mother.

But it’s no use.

Suddenly it’s as if time slows down and Rey can see each second pass in slow motion. Crying out in rage Kylo manipulates his sword around Finn’s and sends it spinning off into the distance, leaving him unarmed and turned around, and Kylo brings his sword down hard across Finn’s back – cutting him from shoulder to hip.

_“FINN!”_ Rey and Rose scream in unison, their cries echoing through the trees, and watch as he collapses unconscious onto the ground – blood rapidly soaking his shirt. “No!”

Rey twists and turns, fighting with everything she has to escape and run to him, but Kylo sheaths his sword and stalks towards her. Brushing his now sweaty black hair away from his face before reaching inside his cloak for a flask.

“Shhh,” He presses his gloved hand against her cheek, as if trying to soothe her, and, disgusted, Rey spits on him. Glaring and trying to convey every ounce of her loathing through that single look.

“You cannot have me.”

“I will have you,” Kylo replies calmly, wiping the spit away and lifting the flask to her lips, “It’s already been decided.”

Restrained as she is, Rey’s only option is to turn her face to the side, but Kylo immediately grabs her jaw and holds her still, forcing her mouth to open enough for the liquid to get inside. It’s cold and bitter and she moves to spit it out, but Kylo seems to anticipate this because he quickly covers her mouth with his hand and forces her to swallow.

“Sleep now. The ride to Exegol is long and you will need your strength.” With a jerk of his head the knights reassemble and Kuruk hands her over to Kylo, who lifts her with one arm under her shoulders and the other underneath her knees. As if she weighs no more than a feather. 

Her limbs feel heavy and far away, as if they’ve been detached from her body, and although her brain is screaming at her to fight – to kick and punch and bite – she can’t do anything but lay there as Kylo lifts her into the carriage on his lap, and the last thing she sees is a sobbing Rose lifting Finn’s head into her lap before everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things to note:
> 
> One: I promise Finn isn't dead! I love him too much and would never do that.
> 
> Two: Kylo is gross and creepy, but there won't be any assault/rape in this story. I don't read that and I don't write it, so don't be worried. <3


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the weeks after the ball Poe struggles with his feelings and the engagement. A rescue is mounted. Mistakes are made.

****

The thin strings dig into the pads of his fingertips, leaving red indentations in the callouses that have been built up there over years of playing, but Poe hardly feels the pressure. His fingers move nimbly as he switches between chords, curving in perfect arches to reach even the most complicated notes, and his right hand plucks out from memory the patterns and melodies its played a hundred times.

There’s something methodical about playing an instrument. The notes, the chords, the muscle memory all working together to create the perfect sounds. And when he sits down to play it’s almost as if he enters a sort of trance, finding comfort and peace in the quiet focus required.

He’s played more in these past two weeks than he has for months.

Ever since the night of the ball he’s been plagued by guilt and confusion. The image of Rey’s tear-filled face haunting his dreams every night and her shadow following him around the castle grounds. Guilt over the way he treated her – casting accusations and sending her away in front of the entire court – and confusion because as much as he’s still angry, he also misses her, and he can’t seem to stop.

The plans for the university are coming along well and the work is progressing nicely. He’s had at least six meetings with his father and the special team of advisors he’d assembled to discuss building plans and operating costs. But despite how often his father tells him how proud he is and reinforces his support, it’s Rey’s opinion that Poe wants. Her smile of approval he seeks every time he looks up from a new set of plans or proposed contract. And every time he looks up to find her absent, he feels the grief of losing her all over again.

Which is frustrating because he shouldn’t be missing her. Shouldn’t be reaching out for her hand only to find empty air. Shouldn’t crack a joke and then frown when he doesn’t hear her laughter. Shouldn’t imagine her reactions to each passage of every book he tries to read before inevitably tossing aside. He should be furious with her! It’s her fault they’re in this position. If she’d simply told him the truth from the beginning they never would have gotten into this mess in the first place.

 _But then how could she manipulate you?_ A cynical part of his mind asks, and Poe misses the next few notes – cringing at the discordant sound and the snap of the strings against the wooden neck, and making Beebee glance at him curiously from where he lies half-asleep at Poe’s feet.

He still doesn’t know what to think about that. The Baroness had claimed her servant was nothing more than a pretender making a grab for money and power, and at the time – blindsided as he was by finding out Kira de Kryze was really Rey Kenobi and that the woman he’d been falling in love with had told him such a monumental lie – the Baroness’s claims had sounded true. How could he trust a servant’s words over a baroness? It goes against everything he’s been taught about being a member of the nobility.

But the more he thinks about it, the less it makes sense.

So much of what happened would have been reliant on chance, and that’s a terrible way to plan a con. She couldn’t have known he’d ride through her apple orchard that morning. Couldn’t have known he’d come across Luke in the forest and return to the castle when he did (and she would have had to plant Maurice in that wagon, too). And arguing philosophy hardly seems like the best way to attract a man’s interest, barring himself, of course, but she couldn’t have known he’d find her arguments so fascinating and their banter so invigorating.

Either she’s the luckiest con woman in the world, or she didn’t plan any of it at all.

Of course, there’s still the possibility that once they met at the river (and there’s another thing she couldn’t have predicted: Luke testing a new invention and just _happening_ to come across her floating downstream), she saw an opportunity and decided to take it, but although that’s the conclusion Poe’s reached time and time again these past two weeks, it still doesn’t feel like the right one.

Could Rey really be that good of an actress?

Perhaps… but his heart refuses to believe it. She’d felt so _real_ , their interactions so genuine and their conversations so heartfelt, and although he’s had the privilege of visiting the theatre many times and even seen a few private shows put on here at the palace, he’s never witnessed an actor or actress with that much skill.

And there’s also the matter of the Baroness and Paige to consider. The two of them had every reason to disparage Rey, given their own aspirations, and he firmly believes they would say and do anything if it meant a chance at Paige becoming princess. Does he really trust Baroness de Tico’s word against Rey’s?

But then he comes right back around to the beginning – acting or not, she still lied to him. Lied and kept lying every day they were together. There can be no excuse for that.

The song he’d been playing slowly registers as he slips back out of his deep thoughts, and with a start Poe realizes he’d been humming along to the same song he’d played for Rey by the bonfire at Hondo’s camp and he immediately sets the lute aside, leaving the song unfinished and the last notes hanging unsatisfactorily in the air.

The walk down memory lane is a dangerous path.

“Poe?” The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens and he looks up to see his father peeking around it. “Oh good, you’re here. I was hoping to talk to you for a minute before Princess Bliss and her entourage arrive.” Kes shuts the door and crosses the room, coming to sit down on the wide sofa next to Poe and patting Beebee fondly on the head. Spotting the lute, he smiles and carefully picks it up – fiddling with the strings for a moment and practicing a few chords before picking out one of the more complicated melodies Poe remembers from his childhood. “I remember when your abuelo gave this to you. You said you didn’t want to learn and fought him over every lesson.” He laughs, shaking his head. “So stubborn.”

“I was seven,” Poe chuckles, just as mesmerized now by his father’s skillful playing as he was when he was a little boy, “I wanted to learn how to fence or go horseback riding with Mama. The lute wasn’t nearly as exciting.”

“And yet now you play so well, so perhaps now you can admit you were wrong.” Kes winks, then looks down at his hands and switches songs, rapidly plucking out _Calata a l'espagnola_ – Shara Bey’s favorite.

Poe sits quietly and watches, remembering warm nights in front of the fireplace, the shadows from the flames dancing across his small hands while he played with his wooden horses and knights, while his mother sat beside his father listening to him play for hours – sometimes singing along, but usually content just to enjoy the music. If he shuts his eyes he can almost convince himself she’ll be there when he opens them. As if nothing has changed and the past twenty years have only been a dream.

The music comes to a stop and Kes sets the instrument aside with a fond sigh tinged with sadness.

“You should play more,” Poe says, gesturing towards the lute, “You know you can borrow that whenever you want to.”

“No. It’s been rightfully passed on to you, and I prefer to hear you play. But,” He shifts in his seat, sitting up a little straighter, and Poe mirrors the action – understanding that a more serious conversation is about to take place, “That’s not what I came in here to talk to you about.”

Poe nods. “I didn’t think so.”

“I wanted to talk to you about your wedding, now that the Princess is about to arrive and everything has been planned and prepared for.” His father clears his throat and scratches his goatee before continuing. “Marriage is a serious business, Poe, and I don’t want to give you the impression that it doesn’t take work, because it does. A _lot_ of work. There will be arguments and compromises and nights when you’ll forget why you got married in the first place. But despite that, or perhaps because of it, it will be the most rewarding thing you ever do. Nothing compares to the companionship and comfort that can be found in one’s partner, the laughter and joy, and the good days will far outnumber the bad. With your mother,” He stops, blinking rapidly and looking towards the ceiling to regain control over his emotions, “In the middle of whatever she was doing, whatever fight she was fighting, it was like I could feel her eyes on me. I could feel how much she loved me, and how much she loved you. No matter the argument or situation, our love was unshakable. _That_ is the kind of relationship I want for you Poe, one built on genuine love and trust. One that can endure any hardship.” He takes a deep breath, and Poe holds his own, guessing that what he’s about to say next will be extremely important. “I know this marriage with Princess Bliss isn’t based on love, that it’s something you felt forced into, and I know everyone is expecting it, but I want you to know that if you don’t want to go through with it – if you want to call the whole thing off and go find that servant girl you’ve been pining over – I’ll understand, and I won’t stop you.”

Exhaling harshly, Poe stands up and walks over to the window, staring out over the castle grounds without really seeing. Beebee perks up and follows after him, nudging his leg and whining, and Poe bends down to scratch him behind the ears. “I’m fine, buddy.”

“Mijo?” Kes asks, unmoving, “Is that what you want?”

_Yes._

_No._

_I don’t know._

“I can’t trust her,” He finally says, not missing the way his own voice falls flat with disappointment, “And you said yourself a marriage should be based on love and trust. The situation is what it is. Besides,” He schools his features into something more reassuring and hopeful, then turns back to face his father, “I like Zorii well enough. Who knows what might develop over time?”

Kes looks at him for a long time, weighing something heavily in his mind, before sighing and standing up. “As long as you know it’s your choice.”

“I do.” He just… doesn’t know if it’s the right one.

“Then we should go downstairs so that we can be waiting outside to greet them. We don’t want your new bride thinking you’re rude.”

Poe thinks of the sharp sting on his cheek the last time he’d seen Princess Bliss, and he chuckles.

No, they wouldn’t want that.

****

The arrow flies free of the string, speeding towards the target before hitting with a thunk right in the center, and Poe laughs when Snap spins around in surprise looking affronted. He’s standing a few feet to the side of the target, but from his expression you’d think Poe had aimed for his heart.

“That could have hit me!” He grabs his own arrows out of the target one by one, slipping them back into the quiver that hangs from his waist, before tugging Poe’s arrow out and tossing it onto the grass – leaving it there with a huff.

“Oh, please, it didn’t come anywhere near you.” Poe sets his bow down on the nearby table and walks towards Snap, bending down to pick up his arrow and twirling it between his fingers. “You were never in any danger.”

“You’ve been in a weird mood for days and I’m not sure I want to put up with it anymore,” Snap grumbles, picking his bow back up and nocking one of his arrows before taking aim and releasing it – smiling to himself when it hits dead center.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Poe takes his turn, grunting when his arrow goes wide of the mark by at least five inches.

“Yes, you do.” Snap hits the bullseye again, tossing a triumphant smirk towards Poe, and he huffs and rolls his eyes at his friend.

“I’m in the same mood I always am, right buddy?” He drops to one knee to pet Beebee, who happily jumps up to lick his chin. “Same old Poe, just… the engaged version.”

“Yeah, speaking of that engagement, for a man about to get married you’ve certainly been spending a lot of time with me instead of your betrothed. Do you even know where Zorii is?”

“No,” Poe shrugs, standing back up and shooting again, this time hitting even farther off the mark, “I’m not her keeper. She’s free to go and do as she wishes.”

“And yet somehow I think you’re avoiding her.” Snap taps his chin with the top of his bow, arching his eyebrow at Poe. “Morning hunting parties every day with me and Jess, archery and fencing every afternoon, barely talking to her during dinner each night and outright refusing to dance. It seems to me, Poe Dameron, that this mood you’re in has everything to do with your upcoming wedding, and you’re terrible at hiding it.”

Trying to ignore his friend’s sharp eyes and all-too-knowing gaze, Poe focuses on the target – bringing the bowstring back to his lips and exhaling before taking his aim and shooting three more times. Each shot worse than the last, until the final arrow misses the target completely and gets lodged in the tree behind it.

“You’re not wrong,” He finally mutters, tossing his bow back onto the table in frustration, “I am avoiding her.”

“You can’t do that forever. Think of the wedding night.” Snap teases, his eyes full of mischief, but something in Poe’s expression must reveal his abject horror at the idea, because Snap starts to laugh. “Oh, you’re off to a fine start as a husband. No wonder Zorii slapped you last year.”

The wedding night. He hadn’t even _thought_ about that! With everything else going on, somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that a wedding meant consummation (it must, it’s expected, and an heir must be produced eventually). Where once he might not have minded the idea – despite not being in love with her, Zorii is objectively a very beautiful woman – now the thought makes him faintly nauseous.

Sure, over the years Poe’s enjoyed the kisses of a few women. Stolen moments in shadowy gardens or dark corners of a ballroom. But he’s never taken it past the point of decency. Well, semi-decency, anyway. No one's reputations have ever been compromised. At his core he’s a romantic, and the idea of sharing his body with someone with whom he does not share his heart feels wrong. But now he’ll have to.

Such an intimate act, reduced to nothing more than perfunctory obligation.

Beside him, oblivious to Poe’s depressing realization, Snap loudly clears his throat. “– Which is why I wanted to tell you about it today, in person, before you heard it from anyone else.”

“What?” Poe cocks his head, realizing that Snap had been talking and he’d missed it.

“The news,” Snap says curiously, “About me and Karé?”

“What news about you and Karé?” To be honest, Poe's been avoiding court gossip as much as possible since the ball and subsequent announcement of his upcoming marriage.

“Well, we’re engaged to be married!” Snap grins from ear to ear, and once he does his joy becomes so evident it’s a wonder Poe didn’t notice it radiating off of him the second he saw he showed up today. “Her family decided to stay in town for the rest of the summer after the ball and we’ve seen each other every day since then and I just – I just know, Poe. I know she’s the one for me. So yesterday I proposed, and she accepted, and this morning I went to your father for his approval. I expect it will be announced to the kingdom any day, although nobody will find it very interesting when the Crown Prince is about to be married.”

“Wow,” Poe breathes, reeling from the shock, but feeling pleased for his best friend, “That’s – wow. Congratulations, Snap.”

He steps around the table and throws his arms around Snap’s shoulders, giving him a big hug, and Snap laughs and returns it – nearly picking Poe up off his feet in his enthusiasm.

“I’m so happy, Poe,” He says brightly after releasing him and stepping back, “I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way about another person. She makes me feel like the best version of myself when I’m with her and I want nothing more than to spend my life making her proud and happy. I know we have to wait until your wedding is over and the appropriate amount of time has passed, but I can hardly wait for the moment I’ll be able to look at Karé and call her my wife.”

And there, standing in that field staring at his friend as he beams and talks about his excitement for the future, Poe realizes three things in quick succession.

One: he doesn’t feel that way about Zorii, and he never will.

Two: he and Zorii both deserve their chance at that same happiness, and it isn’t with each other.

Three: despite everything that’s happened, he’s still in in love with Rey.

No matter how hard he’s tried to convince himself that his feelings were a fleeting thing, that it was nothing more than an infatuation and would fade with time, it hasn’t worked. He doesn’t really care that she’s a servant, that was never the issue, he only cared about the lying, but… maybe he’s been unjust. 

That morning when they’d met at the Yavin ruins, she’d said she had something to tell him. At the time he’d thought her confession was that she returned his feelings, then later assumed it was about her engagement (another lie from the Baroness – proving her to be an untrustworthy source of information), but now… maybe she’d been trying to tell him the truth about her name.

And then at the ball. _“There is something I have to tell you now before another word is spoken.”_ She’d been trying to tell him then, too, and both times he hadn’t listened. Too blinded by his own excitement and eagerness to stop and let her speak.

What a fool he’s been.

He’s in love with her, and he threw away his chance to be with her out of sheer stubbornness and his own wounded pride.

Whatever her reasons, Rey deserves a chance to properly explain herself, and he can’t in good consciousness get married, to Zorii or anyone else, until he’s spoken to her about it.

“Poe?” Snap waves his hand in front of his face. “You looked like you went somewhere else there for a second. Are you okay? Because I was kind of teasing before, about your mood, but now I think maybe –“

“Snap,” Poe interrupts, unclipping his quiver from his belt and setting it down on the table next to his bow, “I have to go.”

“Go? Go where? We haven’t finished our match.”

But Poe’s already on his way back towards the castle, half-walking/half-jogging. “I’m happy for you, I really am,” He tosses over his shoulder, “Give Karé my best!”

“Where are you going?” Snap shouts.

“To stop a wedding!” He shouts back, laughing at the way Snap’s jaw falls open and his eyes practically bulge out of his head. Let him stew on that for a while, he has more important things to do.

After a bit of searching, Poe finds Zorii in the garden sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches reading a book. She certainly looks every bit the princess in her maroon gown trimmed with gold and heavy jewels, her hair piled high atop her head in intricate braids, and he knows that to anyone else what he’s about to do would seem like madness. But he knows it’s the right choice. For both of them.

“Ahem,” He clears his throat, waiting for her to look up before approaching, and her eyebrows furrow in response before she goes back to reading. “Can I sit down?” He gestures to the space beside her, and she merely hums.

He’s not sure if that was a yes or a no, but he sits down anyway. If he’s wrong, she’ll definitely let him know soon enough.

“What can I do for you, Dameron?” She turns the page, shifting in her seat to put as much distance between them as possible, and Poe takes that as an encouraging sign. Hopefully her cool dismissiveness towards him means she won’t be offended when he, for lack of a better word, dismisses her.

Peering over her shoulder at the book, he recognizes the writings of Machiavelli, and he pulls a face where she can’t see. He never did care for that man’s particular political ideology. Too crafty and dishonest for his taste – full of all sorts of scheming and double-dealing. But Zorii seems extremely interested in it, picking up a quill with her right hand and underlining sentences as she reads.

Suddenly nervous, Poe runs his hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you about our wedding.” 

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about that,” She snorts, “I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen you since my arrival.”

“Yes, well, there’s a reason for that…” He scratches the back of his neck. Now that he’s here, he’s not sure what to say. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left Snap so quickly – his friend might have been able to give him advice – but no, he’d dashed off impulsively, as usual, and now he's paying for it. “See… a few weeks ago I met this woman –“

“The countess who wasn’t a countess,” Zorii finishes for him, tucking the quill in between the pages to mark her spot before closing the book and setting it in her lap, “I’ve heard the rumors. This past week has given me plenty of time to become familiar with all the rumors floating around your court. You seem to be a favorite topic.” She cocks her head, silently gesturing for him to continue, and Poe coughs.

“Right. Well, I thought my feelings for her weren’t permanent. That I could forget her and marry you and we could be happy. But the more I think about it, the more I don’t think that’s true. Not,” He rushes to add, remembering the last time he rejected her all too well, “Because of you. You’re lovely and any man would be lucky to have you as a wife and any kingdom lucky to have you as its queen. But because of myself. I can’t force feelings that I don’t have.”

“Relax,” She commands, and Poe lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “I’m not going to slap you again.” She laughs, and he feels it’s safe to let out a little chuckle. “Last year when I was here for the regatta my father told me I had to win you over for some treaty. He said it was imperative that he make a deal with your father to ensure the safety of our kingdom and that I couldn’t fail him. So when you rejected me, as nice as you were about it, I was frustrated and angry. There I was, doing something I didn’t want to do, and you didn’t even have the courtesy to play along!”

For a second he’s worried she sounds angry, but then she laughs again and Poe realizes she isn’t as scary as he’d built her up in his head to be. In fact, they’re more similar than he gave them credit for – both victims of their titles and struggling under the weight of expectation that comes with them.

“I’m sorry,” He says, “I didn’t know you were being pressured like I was. I… was kind of oblivious to everyone else’s problems but my own back then.”

“And you’re not now?” She arches her eyebrow, and he shrugs.

“Hopefully not. I’m working on it.”

“Look, Poe,” She sets her book aside, and he hides his surprise at hearing her use his given name for the first time, “I’m sure you have a lovely speech prepared, but let’s skip past that and be honest with each other. You don’t want to marry me because you’re still in love with your fake countess, and I don’t want to marry you because I don’t want to marry any man at all.”

He leans back in surprise, scanning her face for any signs of dishonesty, but she’s an open book, no sign of deceit at all. Simply returning his gaze and waiting for his brain to catch up.

“You don’t?” He finally asks, smothering the relief that washes over him lest he accidentally offend her.

“No, I don’t.” She firmly shakes her head. “I want to rule Kajimi on my own. To prove to my father and all his bastard misogynistic advisors that a woman _can_ make a good leader, despite what they believe. I want to be the queen, not the wife of the king.”

“That explains the research.” He points at her book, and a faint blush appears on her cheeks.

“Fortune doesn’t favor the unprepared. If I’m going to inherit the kingdom, I have to be ready to prove myself.”

“Well,” Poe grins and holds out his hand, “You have my support. I hope you’ll still be willing to consider me an ally, in spite of everything? We rely on Kajimi for a good portion of our spice trade, you know.”

She smirks and accepts the handshake. “As long as you behave yourself, Dameron, we won’t have any issues.”

****

Kes and Leia prove to be surprisingly accommodating, reacting with only a small amount of surprise when Poe tells them about his conversation with Zorii and their new treaty – and even less surprise when he tells them where he’s going next. The two of them sharing conspiratorial looks the whole time he talked, as if they’d been expecting this choice from him all along and were just waiting for him to get there. And while normally he’d balk at the idea of being so predictable, right now he really doesn’t care.

He’d practically sprinted to the barn after leaving them, saddling Black One in record time and ignoring the questions being shouted at him from a very concerned captain of the royal guard, and now he’s on his way to the Tico manor – determined not to let the Baroness or either of her daughters prevent him from talking to Rey and getting the answers he needs. They wouldn’t dare refuse a direct command from their prince, he’s sure of it.

So sure, that as he rides past the edge of town he nearly falls off his horse when Rose Tico runs out to stop him, one arm waving high in the air while the other clings to her heavy basket.

Black One skids to a stop and Poe slides off his back onto the hard ground, grabbing his reins and guiding him over to where Rose is standing looking visibly distressed. “Lady Tico, this is a surprise. What’s going on?”

“Prince Dameron, please,” Her hand shoots out, finding purchase on his upper arm and gripping him tight enough to hurt, “You have to help us! I know you’re probably still upset about what happened at the ball, but we’ve tried everything. Nobody can even make it past the gate of that horrid place to try and negotiate and Finn still can’t get out of bed – we’re running out of options and, I fear, time.”

On the ground now and standing in front of her, Poe takes a moment to observe all the changes in Rose’s appearance. Her gown is plainer than the ones he’s used to seeing on the Tico women, her hair done simply – as if by her own hand, rather than by a servant, and she looks weary in a way noble women rarely do. The careworn look of someone terribly stressed. “What are you talking about? What happened to Finn?”

She wrinkles her brow and cocks her head. “He was badly injured in a duel with Kylo Ren.”

“Kylo Ren?” Poe repeats, confused. He hardly ever thinks about the man who, on paper, is his stepbrother, but in practice is nothing more than a mildly threatening stranger. Last he’d heard Kylo rarely left his estate, preferring instead to stay secluded and mysterious, so that's the last answer he would have ever expected. “Why was he dueling with Kylo Ren?”

“To save Rey of course.” Rose shakes her head, sounding irritated by his lack of comprehension, but nothing she’s saying is making any sense.

“What? Save Rey from what?”

“You really haven’t heard?” She gapes at him. “Gossip spreads so quickly through the court, I just assumed you knew.”

“Knew _what_ , Rose?” And now it’s his turn for urgency. Gripping the reins of his horse until his knuckles turn white, scanning Rose’s face for any sign that the answer won’t be what the mounting panic in his chest is telling him that it is.

“My despicable mother had been secretly selling all of our household items to Ren for months,” Rose hisses, glaring in the direction of her manor even though it’s miles away, “The day after the ball he brought them all back in return for Rey.”

_No. No, no, no._

“Rose,” He asks carefully, swallowing back bile, “What do you mean, ‘in return for Rey’? Surely your mother didn’t –“

Rose nods, and Poe’s stomach sinks like lead. “She did. She sold Rey to him to get back all our stuff and when we tried to stop him from taking her his knights held us back. Finn was able to grab a sword, but Ren was too much for him to handle on his own.” She shudders at the memory, her eyelids briefly closing, and he can only imagine how horrible the fight must have been. Whatever else he may be, Kylo is an excellent swordsman. “I’ve been living with him and taking care of him since then,” She holds up her basket full of herbs and ointments fresh from the apothecary, “But he’s still too weak to go after Rey. Even though he tries every morning.”

This can’t be happening.

What an idiothe’s been! Moping and pining around his castle and carrying a grudge without once considering what Rey was going through. He’d naively assumed she simply returned to being a servant, whatever that entailed, and didn’t bother to think past that – too wrapped up in his own feelings of hurt and betrayal – meanwhile she’s spent the last two and a half weeks enduring god knows what at the hands of one of the worst men in the kingdom.

Assuming she’s even still alive. A thought that fills his veins with ice.

Clasping both of her shoulders, Poe desperately asks, “Where did he take her, Rose?” – already dreading the answer.

“To Exegol.”

Exegol sits atop a mountain, rising high above the neighboring villages and farmlands and cutting an imposing silhouette against the blackening sky thick with clouds. The menacing effect of its turrets and towers and grey stone exterior only heightened by its location above the rocky cliff face. And its main building butts right up against the very edge, as if daring to defy the laws of nature and mocking any army that would try to take it from its master.

To get to the solitary entrance one must ride around the foot of the cliffs and then up the sharp, jagged, narrow path to the top. It’s protected by a gatehouse and bookended on either side by twenty-foot tall stone walls, and the closer Poe gets the more unease he feels. The last time he’d visited, back when he was a young child, it was still called the Chandrila Estate and the mountainside had been lush and green with warm rays of sunlight casting a honeyed hue over everything. Now it is barren, turned into something ominous and foreboding, and the dark clouds swirling overhead promise nothing but cold rain and wind.

“State your purpose.” The gatekeeper emerges, ducking his head to fit underneath the door before rising to an intimidating height of at least six foot six. He’s a giant bulk of a man with a nasty hacking cough and a strange accent and two full-sized swords hanging from his belt – mismatched, as if he’d stolen them from other fighters rather than design his own – and a shiver of fear runs down Poe’s spine.

“I am Prince Dameron and I demand an audience with your master. Let me through.”

The man coughs violently, spitting out a mouthful of phlegm, and then peers up him. “Prince who?”

Another man comes out of the gatehouse, this one much shorter and skinny as a beanpole, holding a leather-bound book and a quill and scribbling down Poe’s name as he shakes in his boots.

“Prince Dameron,” Poe grimaces, sitting up straighter, “You are in my kingdom and Sir Kylo is one of my subjects. I demand you let me through the gate at once. I have urgent business with him.”

“My master chooses when he does business and with whom.” Comes the gruff reply, accompanied by a twisted scowl. “He gives the orders; he doesn’t take them.”

“Well today he doesn’t have a choice,” Poe replies, running out of patience, “Open the gate or I shall have you arrested.”

“Very well, my liege,” The gatekeeper sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “But on your own head be it.”

He roughly elbows his companion in the ribs, then lumbers over to the giant chain and starts wrenching it with both hands, raising the portcullis foot by foot with a speed that would normally require two men working double-time, and the second it’s high enough the scrawnier man ducks underneath it and sprints towards the house. Poe doesn’t wait long to follow, prompting Black One into action and galloping past the high walls.

To reach the main house he has to ride across a wide, empty space and then up a ramp and around a large building with a peaked roof that he remembers was once a church. Although he very much doubts Kylo still uses it as such. The inside has probably been gathering dust ever since the death of Lord Solo and he wouldn’t be surprised if any treasures it once contained had long-since been ransacked.

The actual entrance is nothing more than a single arched door made of dense wood, and Poe dismounts and leads Black One over to the hitching post on the far side of the dirt courtyard. Everything about the estate’s design screams fortress now, and all evidence that it was once a home has been completely eradicated.

“If only Leia could see this now,” Poe mutters, gazing up at the tall towers. Actually, he’s glad Leia hasn’t been back since her husband’s death. It would break her heart to see how far the estate has fallen under her son’s care.

The front door swings open, banging against the wall and catching his attention, and out of it comes the smaller gateman accompanied by the Knights of Ren. Each of them wielding swords and shooting daggers at Poe.

“What are you doing here, Your Highness?” Kuruk circles around him, as if he’s a hunter stalking his prey, and Poe slowly draws his own weapon.

He didn’t come here for this, but if it’s a fight they want, well… he’s only too happy to oblige.

“I heard one of my friends has been staying with you. I’ve come to visit her.” There. That sounded suitably diplomatic. Now when Leia berates him for getting into a fight, he can honestly tell her he tried not to provoke one.

The other knights circle around him as well, each one moving into position so that Poe is left trapped in the middle, and Kuruk smiles darkly as he plants his feet. “There are no visitors here. Only members of Master Ren’s household.”

“So you guys belong to him, huh?” Poe taunts, buying time, “I’ve always wondered how your little organization worked. I have a pet, too. He’s much nicer than you guys, but you probably do more tricks. Tell me, do you also fetch and lay down on command, or just bark?” 

Kuruk’s smile disappears, replaced by a deep frown, and he practically growls at Poe. “We are not _pets_. We serve our master willingly, for he is the one true master of this land and one day all will come to serve him.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That’s the idea.” Kylo Ren himself steps through the doorway and all of the knights instantly drop to one knee, bowing their heads before him and crossing their fists across their chests.

He’s taller than Poe remembered, standing at least half-a-foot taller than him or possibly more, thanks to his black leather boots, and he walks with purpose – his shoulders hunched slightly forward to make himself seem larger and more physically imposing. Like a crow arching its wings, waiting to attack an innocent field mouse.

“Nice to see you again, Ben, you still owe me five gold pieces from that horse race you lost.” Poe tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, not missing the shiny hilt of Kylo’s sword sticking out from the scabbard at his side. Instantly recognizable thanks to its unique cross design on the hilt.

“That’s not my name anymore,” Kylo says darkly, glowering at him, “And you cheated.”

“Don’t blame me just because you weren’t a very good rider.” The knights stand back up, resuming their earlier positions, although this time leaving enough room for Kylo to stand inside the circle as well, and Poe keeps a sharp eye on them in his peripheral vision. This situation is rapidly getting out of control, and if he isn't careful he won't be walking out of here. “And I’ve had enough of people using fake names around me lately. Ben is the name your parents gave you.”

“I have no parents!” He spits in a burst of rage, stepping menacingly towards Poe.

“That’s not possible, now is it?” Poe jokes, looking for a way to escape the circle and a chance at better ground for fighting. “Everyone has to have parents. Maybe yours never had a chance to teach you where babies come from, but when a man and a woman –“

“Silence!” Kylo snaps, and Poe actually listens – holding his breath and waiting for the first blow to fall. “My father is dead, and my mother may as well be the same. They are nothing to me. And you, Poe Dameron,” He jabs his finger towards him, “Will soon meet the same fate.”

“You can’t kill me, Ben, that would be treason.”

The other knights are brandishing daggers now in the hands not clutching their swords, and a quick count tells Poe that’s he’ll be fighting against thirteen weapons soon if he isn’t careful. In hindsight, perhaps coming to Exegol without the royal guard or, at the very least, Snap, was a bad idea.

“It’s only treason if your father is still the king,” Kylo replies ominously, letting the implied threat hang heavy in the air around them.

“Look,” Poe holds up his free hand, switching tactics, “I just came here for Rey. That’s all. I know you took her from the Ticos.”

That, apparently, was exactly the _wrong_ thing to say. If Kylo looked angry before, that’s nothing compared to the blind fury on his face the second Poe mentions Rey’s name.

“She isn’t yours to take,” He hisses, stepping forward again, “She belongs to me.”

“People don’t belong to people,” Poe replies coolly, leveling Kylo with a look. “She’s her own person and should be free to choose how and where she wants to live. What you’ve done isn’t right.”

“Bold words coming from a prince with servants of his own,” Kylo snorts, “Or should I say, hypocritical?”

The accusation hurts, but Poe refuses to legitimize it with a response. He knows his father pays their servants well and that they’re treated with respect, and he and Leia have had a few discussions this past month about what they can do legally regarding the rights of the common man. He won’t be brought down to Kylo’s level and he certainly won’t allow his actions to be compared to such heinous behavior.

“That girl is mine, paid for fair and square, and I think the kingdom will find it particularly interesting when they hear that their prince is going around stealing people’s rightful property from them.”

It’s disgusting, hearing Rey talked about that way, and Poe knows he’s giving himself away by glaring, but he can’t help it. He’s itching for a fight now – his body humming with adrenaline and his fingers eagerly curling around the hilt of his sword. “She isn’t property,” He says, enunciating each word slowly, “And she doesn’t want to be here.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants!” Kylo lashes out again, and Poe takes a step back. “But she will.”

“You don’t want Rey as a servant,” Poe surmises, feeling sick to his stomach when the greed and, he realizes with mounting horror, _lust_ in Kylo’s eyes confirms his suspicions.

It’s even worse than he thought.

Regret washes over Kylo’s face, as if he’s realized he’s revealed too much, and he stands up straight, dropping his voice back down to something more measured and controlled. “Enough talking.”

Closing the gap between them, Kylo brings his blade down swiftly without any warning and Poe barely has a chance to get his own high enough to parry it without getting knocked off his feet. Even so, he stumbles under the weight of the attack – Kylo’s aggressive style of fighting more intense than he anticipated – and he stumbles backwards while returning each hit.

That is, until he feels the sharp point of Cardo’s blade between his shoulders, and he remembers that they’re surrounded. There’s nowhere for him to retreat to.

Poe knocks Kylo’s sword to the side just enough to give himself room to duck around him, and he jogs to the other side of the circle – spinning around to find Kylo in close pursuit.

“This only ends one way, Dameron.” Kylo grips his hilt with both hands, swinging his sword hard, and Poe nearly loses his grip stopping it from hitting his face. “Give up.”

Sweat trickles across Poe’s forehead and down his temples, mixing with the rain that’s begun to fall, and his muscles burn with the effort of each swing and block. It’s been a long time since he was in a real fight, and although he and Snap don’t hold back when fencing together, it doesn’t compare to fighting Kylo Ren.

“I’m not giving up,” Poe grunts, the clanging of metal smashing together echoing in his ears, “I’m going to save Rey and take her home with me where she belongs. Far away from _you._ ”

There’s a flash of lightning accompanied by rumbling thunder overhead, and with a mighty roar Kylo starts swinging his sword down like a hammer. Over and over and over while Poe struggles not to collapse. There’s no art to this style of fighting, just brute force, and Poe knows he’s at a serious disadvantage. All of his skill and fancy footwork is no use against such a blunt, vicious attack.

The next time Kylo brings his sword down, rather than parry it Poe drops and rolls out of the way – jumping back to his feet behind Kylo and slashing at his legs, cutting a gash into his thigh that has Kylo crying out in pain and momentarily stumbling.

But Poe's victory is fleeting.

“Finish him you fools!” Kylo screams and Poe curses under his breath.

The knights close in around him, bringing an end to Poe’s brief hope that Kylo would be honorable and keep this fight between the two of them, and for the first time since he arrived at Exegol he truly starts to fear for his life.

Whatever his skill in battle, taking on seven highly trained men is not something a smart man ever does if he wants to live to tell the tale.

He does his best though, holding his own for a few minutes and managing to land a few good hits on some of the knights, but then he feels a searing pain in his calf and he falters – long enough for Kuruk to knock his sword out of his hand and one of the other knights to kick out his legs from behind.

Poe falls to the ground, his knees sinking into the mud. The stab wound in his leg throbs and his body aches, and now that he’s stopped fighting he can see all of the rips and gashes in his jacket and the streaks of blood across his hands. Each one payment for a hit on one of the knights.

Kylo holds up his fist, silently commanding the knights to step back and stop their attack, and seven blades raise to Poe’s throat in the world’s most dangerous collar, pricking at his skin, waiting for the command.

This is it, then. The end. Poe looks towards the castle one last time, wishing it were possible to telepathically share a message with Rey.

_I’m here. I came for you. I tried._

_I love you._

There’s a moment in which Kylo looks conflicted, the wheels in his head turning as he wars over some sort of decision, and then in one fluid motion he holds up the hilt of his sword, bringing the butt of it down hard on top of Poe’s head, and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Things aren't looking good for our heroes. ;)


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey languishes in her tower cell and discovers the source of Kylo's obsession. And a daring rescue is made.

****

A fresh wave of nausea wakes Rey from her dreamless sleep, drawing her out of the blackness and forcing her to roll blindly onto her side before she starts dry heaving. There isn’t anything in her stomach to throw up, though, and the cramps in her abdomen subside after a few painful moments – thankfully giving her room to catch her breath.

Blinking slowly to adjust to the dim lighting, she pushes herself to a sitting position and pushes her hair, damp with sweat, away from her forehead. Sometime between the fight at the manor and now she’d been placed upon a cot in an otherwise empty stone room, and she wraps her arms around herself to try and ward off the chill. Her tongue weighs heavily inside her dry mouth, the bitter taste of the sleeping draught lingering on her lips, and it’s when she’s looking around for any sign of water or food that she sees him.

Kylo Ren is sitting across the room on the edge of a windowsill – the _only_ window, as far as Rey can tell, although there are a few places where wooden boards have been nailed to the wall that she suspects once contained glass – watching her intently. His features clouded over and his thick dark eyebrows drawn together while his wide shoulders block most of the sunlight.

Heart racing, she waits for him to say something while mentally calculating the distance between her cot and the wrought-iron door, wondering what her chance of escape is should she make a run for it. He’s larger than she is, no doubt, and probably faster in a foot race, but she’s scrappy and quick enough. With some luck she might be able to dodge around him and slip away.

But then where would she go? She has no idea where she is – not regarding the building, nor her location within it – and more likely than not he’d capture her again before she had the chance to find out. She might get the door open only to find a trap waiting for her on the other side.

When it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to speak first, she turns her face back towards him. “Where am I?”

His body lurches infinitesimally, his hands gripping the edge of the windowsill to hold himself back – as if he hadn’t meant to react to her words and instantly tensed to hide it. “You’re my guest.”

His low voice, coated in honey and dripping with a level of barely contained eagerness that sets her teeth on edge, makes a shudder run up and down her spine, and Rey holds herself tighter. The sweat dripping from her temples runs cold, and she resists the urge to wipe it away. “Do you always kidnap your _guests_?”

“Kidnap is such a harsh word, don’t you think?” He stands abruptly, walking towards her and stopping only a few feet away. It makes her feel even smaller than before, craning her neck to look up at him while he towers over her, and Rey stiffens her spine to try and appear more confident and composed. 

“What would you call it?”

“Transportation of goods belonging to me.” The corner of his mouth crooks up. “Sometimes the things I buy can prove to be… difficult. I find it’s prudent to always be prepared, should such the need arise.”

“Prudent?” She hisses. “You poisoned me so that you could kidnap me. Stop lying to yourself.”

Anger flashes through his eyes, the briefest portent of a much darker storm brewing inside him, but he quickly masks it. Smoothing out his features with practiced ease and crouching down in front of her. “I would never poison you, Rey. It was simply a sleeping drought. Why? Are you experiencing adverse effects?”

He lifts the back of his hand to her forehead, but she jerks away before he can touch her – scooting to the other side of the cot to put as much distance between them as she can. As if the simple press of his skin against her own might burn upon contact.

It’s then that she notices the heavy weight around her ankles, accompanied by the clanging of metal as she moves, and she looks down to find thick iron shackles attached to a chain bolted to a ring in the center of the floor.

A new kind of fear takes hold of her. Before, she’d assumed she might be able to escape, but now she knows she’s truly trapped. A prisoner in a dark tower held captive by an evil man. Her heart starts thundering inside her chest, thrashing wildly against her ribcage, and Rey swallows around the sudden lump rising in her throat.

“Rey,” He speaks softly, leaning forward again until she’s pressed as close to the wall as she can go, leaving her with no option but to let him touch her forehead to check her temperature, “The effects of the drought should wear off soon, but I’m just checking to make sure you don’t have a fever. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“Tell that to Finn.” Rey pulls away from his touch again, hitting her head against the wall but ignoring the dull pain lest he try to check that injury, too. More than anything, her heart hurts for her best friend. That last image of him, bleeding and unconscious on the ground, will haunt her forever. Especially should he – no. She won’t even consider that. He won’t – he can’t – he _must_ be alive. Rose would have seen that a doctor was called for, she’s sure of it.

A world without Finn isn’t one she can even begin to fathom.

“You mean the man who tried to murder me?” Kylo asks coolly, leaning back onto his heels and giving Rey room to breathe again.

“He wasn’t trying to murder you,” She argues, avoiding making eye contact in favor of analyzing the ring in the middle of the floor again and testing the tightness of her leg cuffs. There _must_ be a way to break free. “He was trying to save me.”

“You care for him.” It isn’t a question, and one short glance is enough to tell Rey that Kylo does not like the idea of her having feelings for Finn at all. The rage she senses seething beneath the surface scares her more than anything else so far, and so she presses her lips together and looks towards the window – guessing from the angle of the sky and the barely visible mountaintops in the distance that she must be locked in the top of a tower. “What promises have you made to that traitor?”

“Traitor?” The question slips out despite herself, and Rey bites the inside of her cheek.

“A low-class man attacking a member of the nobility is traitorous. Worthy of at least ten years in prison, if not worse. I could press for a harsher sentence, if I so choose.” A smile spreads across his face, one that could almost be considered attractive, if not for the cruel twist to it, and Rey inhales sharply.

“You wouldn’t. You and I both know that would be wrong.”

“Would it?” He stands up and walks back towards the window, keeping his back to her. “It certainly felt like attempted murder when he was swinging a sword at me. I did only as any man could be expected to do – defend myself. Any court in the land would side with me.”

“The King wouldn’t,” Rey replies with more conviction than she feels. In truth, she has no idea what Kes Dameron is like, having only caught a short glimpse of him at the ball, but from what she saw he has a kind face, and from what she knows of his son she believes he must be a just, honest, _good_ man. 

Kylo moves to look out over the view, leaving only half of his face visible while the other side is cast in shadow. “Perhaps that man won’t be king for much longer.”

A jolt of shock goes through her, running from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes, and Rey clenches her hands into fists. Surely he can’t be suggesting some sort of… rebellion or political coup. The Dameron family has ruled their kingdom for generations, beloved and respected by all. She can’t imagine anyone supporting such a nefarious plot, let alone helping Kylo succeed. And he has no hope of overthrowing the crown on his own. 

“Now who’s committing treason? Perhaps it’s you who should be locked away.”

“You want to kill me?” He looks back at her with renewed interest, understanding, even, and Rey turns away in disgust.

“That happens when you’ve been taken prisoner against your will.”

“The only prison here is the one you create yourself.”

“Then explain this!” Rey lifts up her skirts enough to reveal the shackles, angrily trying to stand and struggling to find her balance with her ankles so awkwardly positioned. “Did I create these? Poison myself? Lock myself in this tower in god knows where?”

“You’re in Exegol,” Kylo reveals, not bothering to look away from her face to give the cuffs even a cursory glance, “My home. Your home, too, now. And you’ll only need to be restrained until you agree to my terms.”

His words promise freedom, yet his demeanor speaks of something much more sinister, and Rey shuffles awkwardly to the other side of the room to get as far away from him as the chain will allow. “What are your terms?”

A lifetime of service? Never to leave, never to walk past the gates of his property. Or worse? To be one of his women. A plaything for him to use for entertainment until he inevitably tires of her and tosses her aside.

She’ll never agree.

“Simple.” Kylo crosses the room until he’s standing close enough that she can feel his unpleasantly hot breath ghosting across her face when he speaks. “All you have to do is succumb. Give yourself to me, and I shall give you everything in return.”

Gripping the fabric of her dress in her hands, Rey looks him straight in the eyes and says with as much conviction as she can muster, “I’m not giving you _any_ thing.”

“We’ll see.” With that, Kylo sweeps out of the room – his black cloak billowing behind him - slamming the door shut and locking it before descending the winding staircase. Footsteps echoing softer and softer until Rey is left with nothing but the silence for company.

Finally alone, she collapses against the wall – sliding down until she’s tucked against it with her knees drawn up to her chest – buries her face in her hands, and begins to cry. For herself, for her freedom, but above all, for Finn.

********

The scratch is just deep enough to be visible, and Rey gently blows on the stone to get rid of any dust or debris left over from carving it out. It’s the eighteenth mark of its kind, one more line in a long row of scratches she’s made in the stone wall above her bed to keep track of the passage of time, and she sighs deeply as she lowers to her knees on the cot and sets the small, worn pebble down beside her pillow.

The tallies have become part of her daily ritual. Every morning as the dawn greets her through the window, prodding her eyelids and nudging her awake, she rolls over onto her knees and digs another line into the rough rock wall.

It’s been over two weeks now – almost three. Two weeks of the same mindless routine. Wake up, worry about Finn, use the chamber pot, wait for a servant to arrive to clean and deliver breakfast (always a different boy, never anyone she can talk to or build up a friendship with), eat her eggs and porridge while worrying about Finn some more, sit at the window worrying and watching the river meandering lazily on its path far below, wait for another servant to bring lunch – usually cold meats and a small cup of ale and a slice of bread, then sit quietly and try not to think of Finn (or Poe, which carries an entirely different pain) until Kylo comes to see her.

He always arrives at the same time every day, making her the same offers and promises and trying to cajole an answer out of her that isn’t “never.” Sometimes he asks questions – about her life, her childhood, her friends. He’d even asked about Poe once, referencing the rumors he’d heard that she suspects must have spread all over the kingdom by now, and although she’d been as silent to that as she was to everything else, something must have shown on her face because he’d gone scarily quiet before storming out of the room.

(Unfortunately, that hadn’t prevented him from seeking her out again the next day.)

And he’s always bringing some sort of new gift. Books he thinks she might like to read, papers and quills in case she wants to sketch or write, gowns and jewels to wear. Each thing more lavish and expensive than the last, and yet always with the caveat that she can only have them if she gives in to his desires. Treasures to be dangled in front of her nose like baubles for a cat in the hope of tempting her into submission.

It’s as dull as it is insulting. As if her loyalty can be _bought_.

The one bright spot is late at night when she creeps over to the bolt in the floor and spends an hour rubbing the chain link up and down against it. With any luck, the metal will eventually erode and weaken enough that she’ll be able to snap the chain free. (By her calculations, for that to happen she’ll have to do this every night for at least a year, but it’s not as if she has anything else to occupy her time.) While she works, she sings. Anything and everything she can think of – songs she hasn’t heard since childhood followed by newer melodies she’d picked up on her visits to town. More often than not, she can’t remember all the words, but where her memory fails her creativity happily supplies new lyrics. It’s the only thing keeping her sane.

So far, there’s been but a single variation in her daily routine. Last night Kylo had brought her dinner himself instead of one of the servants. He’d had a bruise high on his cheekbone and scratches on his knuckles. Signs of an altercation. And he’d paced back and forth silently across the tower room with a restless energy that frightened her – occasionally muttering curses and dark thoughts under his breath before ultimately declaring once again that she belonged to him (and _only_ him) and then leaving.

Whatever prompted his sudden change in demeanor, she doesn’t want to know so long as it never happens again. If she’s ever going to escape, then she’ll need a routine she can rely on. It wouldn’t do to break the chain and somehow unlock the door only to find Kylo on the other side making another surprise visit.

There is a strange atmosphere hanging over Exegol this morning though, and even from her remote tower Rey can sense that the whole castle is on high alert.

For the first time since she’d arrived her breakfast is brought by one of the Knights of Ren instead of a servant. He pushes the door open without preamble, letting it slam against the wall, and sets her bowl of porridge down on the ground before kicking it towards her – grunting when half of it spills. His face is covered by an unusual mask – multiple lines running vertically parallel down the front of it – and in one hand he carries a menacing looking scythe with interesting carvings dug into the handle. Something he must have made himself.

Rey opens her mouth to complain about wasting so much food, but thinks better of it when the tip of the blade angles towards her. Wordlessly sending the message that something has changed.

“Where are the usual servants?” She tentatively asks, inching across the floor and retrieving the bowl before the knight can second guess himself and destroy the rest of it.

She can’t see it, but she’s certain just from the way he tilts his head that the look he’s giving her is scathing.

“All unnecessary personnel have been dismissed until further notice.”

Rey winces when the door clangs shut after he leaves, watching it rattle with the strength of his arm, and quickly shoves the rest of the porridge into her mouth. Whatever this day may bring, she doesn’t want to face it on an empty stomach.

Hours pass.

Rey sits in her usual spot propped up on the windowsill, bare feet resting on the ledge in front of her at the only angle that doesn’t make the cuffs dig into her skin and the right side of her body pressed against the glass, watching patches of grey clouds drifting across the sky – periodically blocking the sun as they sail past. Far below the cliffside lies the river, stretching in one long swath of navy blue ribbon from the forest on her left out towards the sea on her right, and sometimes she can spot boats on the water making their way out to the ocean. Sailors journeying to far off lands with goods to sell and a list of items to bring home.

Maybe if she manages to escape, she’ll board one of those boats and join them. Disappear into the horizon – never to be seen or heard from again.

She’s in the middle of braiding the loose threads at the end of her sleeve, trying to prevent the ragged fabric from tearing further, when Kylo Ren marches through the doorway looking agitated and nursing freshly bruised knuckles.

_Has he been fighting?_ She wonders. _And if so, with whom?_

Rey doesn’t move from her spot, instead resolutely continuing to stare out the window and showing a keen interest in the few droplets of rain lingering there from the short-lived storm during the night. There’s only a smattering, nothing more, but Rey counts the droplets anyway. He hates it when she ignores him, and so she does it as often as she can.

“Enough of this.” His voice cracks like thunder, but Rey’s tiny flinch is the only sign that she heard him, and she can hear him grinding his teeth at her lack of reaction. “I’m tired of your games. It’s been weeks and I will have my answer.”

“I’ve given you your answer,” She replies loftily, the corner of her mouth turning up in a small smile when a starling flutters past the window. It’s the first one she’s seen since her arrival, and the fluttering of hope she feels inside her chest is enough to bolster her confidence.

“No.” Kylo grunts. “You’ve been refusing me out of sheer stubbornness, and so far, I’ve indulged you. Let you play out this little fantasy and pretend you had some control over the outcome. I thought in time you would see reason, yet instead you continue to defy me.”

“It isn’t _reason_ to agree to your terms.” Rey slowly twists in her seat to face him, noting the knight that’s entered the room as well carrying a heavy chest. He sets it down next to her cot, flipping the latch and opening the lid, before turning and bowing to Kylo.

This one isn’t wearing a helmet or mask, and there’s something familiar about his features that pricks her memory, but before she can solve the mystery, he’s gone – exiting through the door and pulling it shut behind him, leaving her alone with his master.

“It’s your only choice.” Kylo walks over to the chest and bends over to reach inside, grabbing a handful of rich fabric dyed the deepest shades of black with blood red accents. “I’ve brought you a gown to change into, worthy of the mistress of Exegol, as well as jewels and comfortable shoes to match. One of my knights will bring you hot water and a clean cloth shortly to bathe. I no longer have the patience to wait for you to agree on your own.”

That won’t be happening. She’s not going to risk getting naked in a jail cell where her captor could decide to walk in any minute, and she definitely won’t be wearing whatever it is he’s had designed for her.

“Mistress?” She asks instead, eyeing him warily when the title seems to bring a hint of a smile to his face. “You think I’m going to marry you?” The very idea makes her sick, and suddenly she’s grateful she only had half her usual serving of breakfast. Even if he hadn’t imprisoned her. Even if he hadn’t tried to kill her best friend. She’d never bind herself to someone so cold. So callously cruel. So indifferent to the needs and suffering of those around him.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead stalking towards her like a predator confronting its prey, moving as though afraid she’ll bolt if he approaches too fast. Once he’s close enough, he raises his hand to lightly stroke her jawline with the back of his fingers. “You ask me as though you have the option of saying no.”

Rey jerks her head and slides down off the windowsill, ducking underneath his arm to escape his reach. “My answer _is_ no.”

“You are mine to do with as I see fit,” He hisses, his hand curling into a fist where she’d left it raised uselessly in the air, “You should be grateful!”

“Why?” The question bursts out of her and she throws her arms out to the side. “Why force me into a marriage I don’t want? I’ll never make you happy. There won’t be a single day I won’t try to leave here. Surely you would be miserable with such a wife.”

He walks towards her again, crowding her into a corner, his voice low and almost plaintive. “Since I first laid eyes on you almost two years ago, I knew you were the one I wanted by my side. Not as my servant, but as my queen. To stand at your rightful place next to me as we take the kingdom away from those who would continue to use their power to keep us down. I have thought of no one else, wanted no one else, only you.”

“Why?” She doesn’t understand. At best, all she’s ever done is tolerate him when he came to buy produce from them on market day. If she’s ever given him any indication that she would be interested in his advances, then it’s based entirely a myth he’s concocted inside his head.

“Because you’re like me, Rey.” He leans in closer, and she presses her palms flat against the cool rocks behind her, feeling her shoulderblades digging painfully into the wall. “Both of us cast off by those who should love us. Mistreated and misunderstood. Abandoned. I see the same loneliness in your eyes that I feel in my heart. I have always seen it, kept hidden by those friendly smiles and under layers of dirt and hard work. We are the same.”

“I’m not like you at all. I would never hurt anybody.” _He’s too close!_ Panic starts to set in, and she tries to shuffle away, but the chain rattles loudly with each tiny movement and Kylo is quick to intercept her path. 

His hand lands on the wall beside her head. “I hurt only those who deserve it. Is that not justice?”

“You deal in punishments and cruelty and revenge, but it is not justice.” She tries moving in the opposite direction, away from the arm blocking her in, but he simply brings his left hand up to match his right, boxing her in.

“Why do you resist? Why do you fight our connection when I know you feel it, too?”

“I don’t!” She shakes her head, wondering what her chances are of kicking him with both legs at the same time without falling on her ass. “There is no connection.”

“There _is_!”

“No! I feel nothing for you!”

“Is this nothing?” He grabs her by the shoulders and smashes his mouth against hers.

His lips are rough and chapped, and his fingers dig into her upper arms, making her cry out in pain. Rey tries to fight him off, but his grip is too strong and with her feet shackled as they are she can’t step away, so in a desperate attempt to stop him she bites his lip instead – hard enough to draw blood.

Kylo’s head rears back, his eyes blazing. He brings his hand to his mouth, touching the spot where her teeth had been with his fingers and then looking down at the bright red smudged on his fingertips. “I will break you, Rey,” He mutters darkly, “And you will come to me willingly before the end. I always get what I want. My father tried to tell me no once, _refused_ to give me what I wanted. I killed him for it. What makes you think I won’t do the same to you?”

His threat sends a chill up her spine, but she tries not to let it show. _Did he really murder his father?_ She wouldn’t have believed it before, but now, seeing the way his body trembles with poor restraint and the muscles in his jaw are clenching, she thinks maybe it could be true. “Better to be dead than accept what you’re offering.”

He twists at the waist and smashes his fist into the wall, far enough away from her head not to risk accident, but close enough to make her flinch. Blood immediately begins to flow from all four knuckles, but he pays no attention to the injury. “I offer you the world, all the wealth and power you could ever desire, and yet you still refuse me.”

“I don’t want wealth and power,” Rey whispers, genuinely fearing for her life, “I just want to be free to make my own choices. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t you understand!” He cries, “You come from nothing! You are nothing! You’re no one! What you want, only _I_ can give you!”

Although it’s Kylo Ren shouting the words at her, it’s the Baroness’s voice Rey hears. _A little nobody who wouldn’t know princes from paupers. A nobody like you wouldn’t understand. You’re nothing more than a worthless liar and a thief._ And all the countless other times she’s been reminded of her worthlessness by the woman who should have loved her like a mother. _Nobody. Nothing. No one_.

Her defenses start to crack; her willpower fading. Everything he says is true. She is nothing. No one. What hope is there?

_No one is no one._

Poe’s words to her in the forest come back to her in a sudden burst of passion, casting out the shadow voices in her mind. The memory of his beautiful brown eyes blazing with the strength of his emotions – as visible to her now as if she can actually see them before her – accompanied by his quiet conviction fills her with a newfound faith, just like it did that afternoon, and she squares her shoulders and sucks in a deep breath. “No one is no one,” She repeats calmly, casting out the self-doubt Kylo had hoped to manipulate her with. Drawing on the strength of Poe’s beliefs and reminding herself of her friends – Finn, Rose, Paulette, Louise, Maurice, Cody – the people who _really_ love her. People without ulterior motives or selfish desires.

“A pretty sentiment,” He chuckles mirthlessly, “But it will not save you. You know I can take whatever I want.”

He can. She’s locked in a tower, chained to the floor, helpless and alone. And yet… he hasn’t. Other than today, and her initial capture, he’s never tried to touch her against her will.

_Why_?

“But you won’t.” Rey replies, feigning confidence and hoping her hunch is right. “Because you want me to want you back, and you know I never will if you force yourself upon me again.”

A flash of vulnerability crosses his face, and for a moment he’s stripped bare and Rey can see the boy he must have been once. A scared child desperate for affection. A young man hiding his hurt behind a cold mask. Not Kylo Ren, but Ben Solo. Where he went wrong, what dark thoughts set him upon his current path, she doesn’t know, but suddenly she pities him. Pities the kind of person that would forcibly remove himself from all those who cared about him and seek a life of loneliness and revenge.

Taking a few steps back, Kylo is quick to bring the wall back down over his emotions – closing his eyes and taking a deep breath while smoothing out his features before looking at her again. “I’ll leave you to bathe and get changed. I expect to find you ready to receive me when I return.”

Even after the door closes, Rey doesn’t move. She stays pressed against the wall waiting for her heart to stop racing, focusing on each muscle one by one until her body can relax again. She doesn’t know how she’ll make it happen, but one thing’s for certain – she has to escape. Today. Before Kylo Ren becomes even more volatile and her situation more dire.

Once she’s calm and able to think clearly again, Rey makes her way over to the door – picking up the chain so that it doesn’t clink loudly while she walks and give her movements away. The chance of anyone hearing her is probably slim, but it isn’t a chance she wants to take. The door is matte grey, made of heavy iron, and at least a few inches thick, but a quick examination tells her it’s of a similar design as the one on their pantry back home. Master Luke had been able to open that without a key, but how?

The handle and padlock are on the outside, so it’s no use trying to finagle a solution using those, but the hinge is on the inside so that the door can swing open that way. Could it be that Master Luke had meddled with that instead? Rey leans in to get a better look. The hinge’s mechanics seem simple enough. Two round holes with a peg down the middle to hold it in place – a peg that shifts when she tugs on the top of it.

As slowly as she can, Rey pulls the top peg free of the door hinge, then waits to see if anyone comes running.

She counts up to ten, then back down again, before exhaling and opening her eyes. It’s quiet on the other side of the door. _This might work_.

But there’s still the issue of the shackles bolted around her ankles. She won’t get farther than ten feet if she can’t find a way to unlock them.

_The peg!_ It’s thin enough it might just fit inside the cuff’s keyhole. With some jiggling and a whole lot of luck, she should be able to pop the latching mechanism and spring herself free. Then it will simply be a matter of removing the bottom peg from the door and sneaking down the stairs and finding her way out of the castle without getting caught.

_Easy_. She gulps.

Rey walks back over to her cot and sits down so that she can get a better angle to see what she’s doing, hikes up the skirts of her dress over her knees, and starts working on the lock. Jamming the peg into the small hole and wiggling it back and forth to try and force it to unlock.

There’s a knock on the door and she barely has time to fix her skirts before it swings open, revealing the same knight from earlier carrying a bucket of steaming water.

Except, the door doesn’t open properly now. Instead it tilts at an awkward angle, metal groaning as it twists, and Rey stares unblinkingly at the knight while he looks back and forth between her and the door in shock.

He opens his mouth to call for help, but Rey shoots up off her cot and starts talking before he can make a sound. “You’re not going to call for help. You’re going to remove my restraints and let me go.”

That seems to take him off guard, and his teeth clack audibly as he shuts his mouth again and arches a single eyebrow – his eyes dropping to follow the chain as it winds across the floor and disappears at her feet. “What did you say?”

“You will remove these restraints and let me leave this tower,” Rey says more firmly this time. Praying that there’s still some shred of sympathy or mercy inside his heart and that it will be enough to prompt him to do the right thing and help her.

If she doesn’t get out now Kylo might decide that waiting for her to want him and choose to be with him of her own free will is overrated. Free will already doesn’t seem to be high up on Kylo’s list of desirable attributes as it is.

“I’ll tighten those restraints.” He grunts and sets down the bucket of water, and the sleeve of his black tunic rides up just enough to reveal a scar on his wrist that disappears under the fabric up his forearm. A scar that exactly matches another one Rey knows well – received during a harvesting accident almost fifteen years ago.

“No, you won’t. You’re going to let me go.”

He folds his arms over his chest and plants his feet shoulder-length apart, and the skeptical expression he gives her only strengthens her memory of him. It’s a wonder she didn’t notice the resemblance immediately. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I know who you really are, Ap’lek. Is this what your brother would want?”

If she wasn’t already looking at him, she’d miss the twitch at the corner of his eye and the way his brown skin pales ever so slightly, but she doesn’t dare look away and so she notices it all. Every little fleeting emotion that passes over his face – surprise, anger, regret, shame – before he covers his face with his hands and rubs his cheeks to hide it all.

“I have no brother, but the brotherhood the Knights of Ren has given me.” It sounds like a chant or recitation, not something spoken from the heart, and Rey shakes her head.

“That’s not true. Your brother is Cody, my father’s best friend. You used to live and work on his farm. You got that scar on your arm when the two of you got hit by a broken plow.”

His jaw drops and he looks down at his arm, as if to make sure that scar is really there and she isn’t lying, and then walks towards her – his eyebrows scrunching closer together with each step. “Rey? Rey _Kenobi_?” She nods. “I didn’t realize – the last time I saw you you barely came up to my knees. You’ve grown up.”

“Are you going to help me?” She doesn’t have time to reminisce. Although part of her is curious about what could have convinced him to leave home and join the Knights of Ren, that’s a story that will have to wait for another day. She’s living on borrowed time.

He thinks it over, chewing the inside of his cheek and scratching his chin. The seconds passing at an agonizingly slow rate while he weighs her question in his mind. It’s a big thing she’s asking of him, to betray his master and a man who would sooner kill him than forgive him, but eventually it seems whatever goodness is left in him wins out. “I’ll remove the shackles, but that’s it. You’ll have to find your own way out of the castle, otherwise it will be too obvious that I helped you. And you’re going to have to hit me, too.”

“What?”

“We have to make it look convincing.” He drops to his knees and she sits back down so that he can take a look at the ankle cuffs.

Ap’lek huffs out a low laugh when he sees the peg she’d jammed into one of the keyholes, but thankfully doesn’t tease her about it – instead he jams it in tighter and at a different angle, and his strength seems to be enough to do the trick! The metal cuff pops open and Rey slides her foot out of it, waiting impatiently while he does the same to its twin.

Rubbing her sore skin, she smiles at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” He warns, “You still have to make it past Kylo, and if you get caught, I won’t help you again. This one was for your father – he was a good man and kind to me – but that’s it.”

“I understand.” She stands back up and moves to leave, but Ap’lek stops her with a pointed cough.

He tilts his cheek towards her and points to it. “Come on. Make it look good.”

Oh. _Right._

“Does it have to be your face?” She’s only ever hit one other person before, and that was in a fit of righteous anger. (Throwing apples at Poe doesn’t count.) What if she breaks something important like his nose or her fingers?

“The face makes the most sense. Just hit me with the back of your hand as hard as you can. Do it quick – without –“

The smack echoes around the room, and Rey immediately covers her mouth with both hands. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She’d thought if she did it fast it would stop her from chickening out, but now that she can see the crimson mark blooming on his face she feels horrible. Maybe a warning would have been better.

“Nope.” He grunts, touching the tender spot with his fingertips. “That was good. Now go, before he comes back.”

“Thank you, Ap’lek.” She squeezes his shoulder and the two of them share a look of understanding, before running towards the door and flying down the long, winding staircase – hopefully on her way to freedom.

Halfway down the stairs there’s a window, allowing just a sliver of light to pass through and illuminate the steps, and Rey pauses to get her bearings. Through it she can see the castle’s large courtyard and what looks to be a black horse tied up outside. If she can just make it down there, she can borrow the horse and ride away to freedom.

At the bottom of the steps Rey passes through a narrow archway and into a wide hallway with tall, rib-vaulted ceilings. She stops for a second to catch her breath, and then she’s off again – running on the tips of her toes and feeling grateful for the first time that her shoes had been lost somewhere on the journey to Exegol. Bare feet are much quieter. 

The castle is deathly silent, no signs of servants or visitors. The knight who brought her breakfast must have been telling the truth when he said all unnecessary personnel had been sent away, although she can’t for the life of her think why Kylo would do something so outrageous. Surely he doesn’t clean up after himself, and she finds it hard to believe the prestigious Knights of Ren spend their days dumping chamber pots and scrubbing floors.

No, there must be another reason.

When she reaches the end of the hallway she finds another door, but this one is normal – not meant for keeping people locked in – and she cautiously lifts the latch and pushes it open, slipping through the smallest sliver she can manage before closing it behind herself.

It seems to have brought her to the main part of the castle, the _lived-in_ part, because the windows are much bigger and the stones are lighter shades of beige and cream and the railing across from her is carved much more elaborately. She’s standing at the top of another staircase, this one winding around the walls of the large room and leaving the center open to the floor down below, and she starts to take the first step when she hears voices from directly underneath her.

Rey drops to the floor immediately, tucking herself into the corner far away from the ledge and making herself as small as possible. The voices are both male and one of them she recognizes right away with a cold shiver.

“Has he said anything?” Kylo asks.

“Not yet, sire.” Another man with a slightly higher, sniveling voice replies. “Prince Dameron is proving to have a stronger will than we anticipated. None of our usual methods seem to work on him.”

_Prince Dameron?_ Rey’s brain freezes and her eyes blur, unseeing. _Poe is here? HERE?_ That can’t be possible. What on earth would have brought him to Exegol?

Unless…

No. Surely he didn’t come to save her. Why would he, after what happened? They must be mistaken.

“Perhaps it’s time I paid him another visit, Hux,” Kylo huffs, clearly irritated, “The only reason I didn’t kill him yesterday is because nobody knows the palace’s weaknesses as well as he does. If we want our attack to be successful, we’ll need that information.”

“Very good, sire. Shall we head directly to the dungeons?”

“No,” Kylo pauses, and there’s something extra sinister in his voice when he speaks next, “I have something I want to get first that may help us convince the precious Prince to tell us what he knows.”

Rey scoots carefully to the ledge and peers down at them just as they disappear through the door below her, struggling to comprehend what she’s just overheard.

Kylo Ren has kidnapped Poe and is threatening to kill him unless he helps him plan an attack on the castle. No matter how many times she repeats that sentence in her head, no matter how she rearranges the words, it doesn’t make sense. Kylo had mentioned overthrowing the King, of course, but she’d assumed it was just the ramblings of an insane man, she hadn’t actually _believed_ him.

But if he’s taken Poe captive, then he’s already committed treason, which means he must not think King Dameron will be on the throne long enough to punish him for it.

This isn’t good. She has to save Poe and get him out of here so that he can warn his father and Queen Leia and stop Kylo from carrying out his terrible plot. Otherwise who knows how many men, women, and children might be killed by Kylo Ren and his men before it’s over?

“Dungeon,” Rey figures, probably means going as far down as she can, and so she creeps along passages and crawls around corners and tiptoes down staircases until the temperature drops and the windows disappear altogether, leaving her in the cold, dark, damp of the oldest part of the keep. Far below the tower she’d been kept in, where there are no sounds except the scurrying of mice and the creaking of the grated lanterns hanging from the ceiling – their flickering candles the only light source in the whole dreary place.

Eventually she arrives at an archway that opens into what looks to be some sort of armory. The large room contains axes and swords and shields stowed in various places, rusting away from years of disuse and neglect, that cast frightening shadows across the floor, and she hesitates for a moment before slowly stepping inside.

There are no other doors, no exits, and Rey can feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up. _I have a very bad feeling about this,_ she thinks, pressing her lips together to prevent the sound of her breathing from escaping. Despite its apparent disuse, the room has a certain darkness to it. A sensation that horrible things have happened inside its walls.

A whispered groan has her practically jumping out of her skin, and she nearly gives up and turns around to go back the way she came before she sees Poe across the room strapped to some sort of rack, his head hanging down to his chest and his shoulders slumped forward.

_Don’t be dead! Please, don’t be dead!_

Rey darts across the room, paying no attention to the icy stones below her bare feet or the rat she’s pretty sure she felt scurry past her leg, skidding to a stop in front of Poe and gently taking his face in her hands. “Poe,” She whispers, worrying when his eyes don’t immediately open. There’s a nasty gash across his forehead that’s left a trail of blood down his temple, and another cut across his cheekbone, and a third at the corner of his mouth, and that’s just what she can see in the low light. She shudders to think what other injuries might be hiding underneath his clothes. “Poe!” She tries again, whisper-shouting this time and grabbing his shoulder to lightly shake him. “Wake up!”

That seems to do the trick, and she releases the breath she’d been holding when his eyelids flutter and he lifts his chin to look at her. “Rey?” His voice slurs, and she leans in closer to help him see her properly, cupping his jaw to help hold his head up. “Am I dead?”

“No.” She lets out a tiny laugh in relief when he presses his forehead against hers, ignoring the thrill that shoots up her spine at the sound of him using her real name (now is so not the time for that). “But you’re not safe. We have to get you out of this dungeon. What are you even doing at Exegol?”

“I came here to –“ His eyes widen and his head rears back enough to get a proper look at her, and she’s grateful to see that they seem clearer, his mind more alert. “- Rey! You’re here!”

His brown eyes, so dark they could almost appear black, yet still so warm, scan her face. As if he’s dying of thirst and she’s an oasis in the desert. And Rey inexplicably finds herself blushing at being the object of such single-minded focus. “Yes. I’m here.”

Both of her hands are still touching his face and she watches helplessly as her thumbs stroke back and forth across his jawline, rough with a few days of growth. She shouldn’t be doing this. Should stop before it becomes awkward and he gets mad, but she can’t bring herself to release him. Not when he’s so warm and solid and present and _alive_.

“You’re here. With me.” He grunts as he shifts around on the rack, the cuffs around his wrists and ankles making it hard for him to move much more than a few inches, trying to stand up straighter – his gaze never leaving her – and when she finally is able to bring herself to withdraw her hands he leans into them, seeking her touch.

“ _Yes_.” They’re wasting time. Kylo could return any second and if he finds her here with Poe she knows his reaction will be furious and his retribution swift. “I’m here to rescue you.”

Reluctantly, Rey releases him despite his murmured protests, absentmindedly rubbing her fingertips together where the phantom scruff of his facial hair still lingers, and squats to get a better look at his restraints. They appear to be similar to her own, so if she can just find something thin and sturdy enough to pry them open, they shouldn’t be a problem. Although they’re cinched much tighter than her own had been, and she frowns when she notices the red marks where the skin has already been rubbed raw. 

“No, that’s not right.” Poe starts to shake his head, then abruptly stops when it triggers a fresh wave of pain, his eyes scrunching shut for a second while he breathes in through his nose. “I came here to rescue _you_.”

“What?” Rey stands back up, surprised at the anger building inside her chest. “Why would you do something so foolish!?”

He’s been injured! Held hostage! He very well could have been killed – may _still_ be killed – and for what?

“Foolish?” Poe gapes at her, and she stubbornly folds her arms over her chest, obstinately returning his stare. “You were sold to Kylo Ren!” He hisses, his whole face clouding over with indignation. “I _had_ to come. That man is pure evil.”

“So you came because he’s a bad person.” She refuses to be disappointed, even though a small voice in the back of her head murmurs that she’d been hoping he’d come because a part of him still cared for her. _Don’t be ridiculous, Rey Kenobi_ , she silently chastises herself, _he isn’t in love with you anymore and stopping Kylo Ren is a good thing, no matter what the motive may be_.

“Yes,” He replies immediately, then seems to think better of it, “No. I mean, he is a bad person, but I was actually on my way to your house to find you. I needed to talk to you. But I ran into Rose in the village on my way to the manor and she told me what had happened, so I came directly here instead.”

“Well that was stupid.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound so biting, but he’s looking at her through bloodshot eyes and covered in wounds and there’s nothing she can do. Even if he did only come here to stop a bad man from doing a bad thing, she’s still partly responsible. He’s hurt because of her and she can’t fix it.

She’s never been very good at feeling helpless.

That must have been the last thing he expected her to say though, because Poe’s eyebrows furrow and he cocks his head, his response sharp. “Excuse me?”

“You came here _alone_!” Her hand lands on his chest without her permission, settling over his beating heart, and a piece of her calms at the physical reassurance she finds there. The ring he wears underneath his shirt digs into her palm, and she says a fleeting prayer of thanks on his part that no one stole it from him. “When Kylo Ren is plotting against you and your entire family! You put yourself at horrible risk!”

“I came here to save you!” Poe shoots back, his fingers finding her upper thigh and managing to grab onto the fabric there and tug her closer, despite his limited mobility. “And how do you know about that?”

“He’s mentioned it once or twice in the past few weeks,” Rey answers dismissively. There’s another cut along his collar disappearing underneath the loose fabric of his shirt, and she angles her head to get a better look at it. Checking for signs of infection. “You played right into his hands by coming here. You shouldn’t have come.”

“I couldn’t just leave you to suffer.” His forehead presses against her temple, his breath fanning across her cheek, and she quickly leans back. Embarrassed by how close she’d gotten to him without realizing it. He draws her in like a moth to the light, always has. It’s a pull she’ll have to learn to ignore after today.

“Now the whole kingdom might suffer because you decided to play the hero!”

“Play the – _Rey_ ,” Poe huffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes, his hand still holding onto her skirt and tugging insistently, “I didn’t come here on some superficial quest to prove how valiant I am. I came to apologize.”

She stares at him wordlessly, too surprised to reply. That can’t be right. Princes don’t apologize to servants. Especially when the servant is the one who messed up. “ _You_ came to apologize to _me?_ ” It’s meant to sound cynical, guarded, but instead her question comes out quiet and full of surprise, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Yes,” He insists, “And if you’d stop being so difficult, I could do it properly.”

“I’m not the difficult one,” Rey shoots back, trying to regain her bearings through the familiar joke, “We’ve established that already.”

“A wise woman once told me difficult is just another word for stubborn, and I happen to like that quality in people.” Poe’s face breaks out in a genuine smile and Rey can’t help but return it, even now. With a low grunt his hand shifts against the restraint, as if he’d forgotten about it and tried to run his hand through his hair (or maybe, just maybe, reach for her), and his expression changes from playful to contrite. “Look, I’ve been a complete ass. I know you tried to tell me the truth before the ball, but like the lovesick fool I was I refused to listen – too concerned with hearing myself talk, I guess – and then when the Baroness told me the truth, or her version of it, anyway, that night I was too shocked and hurt to react the way I should have. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

She gulps nervously, wetting her lips before dropping her gaze to look at his mouth rather than risk seeing her own vulnerability reflected in his eyes, “How should you have reacted?” 

Poe’s hand grips her skirt again, his fingers grazing her thigh and making her feel hot all over. “I should have pulled you aside and let you explain yourself, not sent you away. I should have _listened_ , not just as the man who wanted to be with you, but as your _friend_. If I had, maybe none of this would have happened.”

_Wanted._ Past tense.

She’s not going to think about that. They need to escape – she can make a list of her regrets when she’s free and made sure Finn’s alright.

“You don’t know that. I’m sure the Baroness had been planning to sell me for a long time.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

It wasn’t supposed to. It was simply a statement of fact. She’s had a lot of time to think about it, and the more she does the more she resigns herself to the truth that the Baroness was always planning this. Probably from the moment she sold Kylo the very first candlestick. The spectacle at the ball was just the excuse she needed to finally pull the trigger.

Rey looks around the room for something sharp and settles on trying one of the swords. It’s risky, but the blade should be thin enough to fit into the keyhole, and the extra length will help give her the leverage she needs to flip the mechanism inside.

Most of them are too rusted over and she doesn’t dare touch them out of fear of accidentally cutting herself and getting sick, but eventually she finds one in relatively good condition and slides it off the rack on the wall, testing its weight and getting comfortable with the feel of it in her hand before walking back over to Poe.

“I’m sorry that I lied to you,” She murmurs, carefully sliding the tip of the blade into the keyhole of the cuff holding down his right wrist, “I should have told you who I was the second time we met – by the river. Maurice was safe then and I should have trusted you not to turn me in.”

“Maybe,” He concedes, watching her face with more interest than he is her attempt to free him, “But I understand why you didn’t. I was hardly more than an arrogant stranger, after all.” He winks, and then winces when the action tugs at the gash on his forehead.

“You’re hurt.” She doubles-down on her efforts, checking to make sure the sword is in place before pushing on the handle at the angle she figures is required for this to work. “We need to get out of here before Kylo returns and does more damage.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

“Poe, your whole face is covered in cuts and bruises, and from the sound of your breathing I’d guess a few of your ribs are bruised, too, if not broken.”

There’s the sound of a low _snick_ and the cuff loosens. Rey moves the sword out of the way and Poe slides his hand free of the restraint, rotating his wrist around in circles before reaching up to touch his cheek – fingers hovering over his wound. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m handsome anymore?”

Rey can feel her cheeks flushing pink at his flirting (of course she does – probably always will), and she rolls her eyes to hide her reaction, stepping around him to undo his left hand. “That’s not really important right now.”

“It’s pretty important to me.” Clearly satisfying an urge, he runs his hand through his hair, fluffing up his curls where they aren’t matted with blood, and tenderly pokes at the gash along his hairline. Feeling the damage for himself with curious fingertips.

Acutely aware of the fact that she hasn’t bathed properly or changed her clothes in almost three weeks, Rey stops watching him and gets back to work. “We can worry about looks when we’re safe.”

“It hardly seems fair that you won’t answer my question when you’re still as beautiful as ever.” He moves to cup her face this time, affectionately tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before trailing his fingers down the side of her neck - leaving goosebumps in their wake, and Rey laughs to hide the embarrassing noise she almost makes at being touched by him again, then clasps her hand over her mouth and glances worriedly at the doorway.

Poe catches on to her fear, and they both hold their breaths until the lack of sound or movement reassures them they haven’t been discovered.

“You must have been hit pretty hard on the head,” Rey chuckles awkwardly, “I might be better off than you, but not by much.”

“Rey,” His thumb dips under her chin, but rather than force her he waits for her to choose to look at him before speaking again, “Has he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” The left wrist cuff snaps free, and Poe takes advantage of having both arms available again to gently clasp her elbows – urging her to face him.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But it’s the answer you’re getting.” She shakes free of his hold and drops to her knees to undo the locks around his ankles. “We need to _escape,_ Poe. We’ve already lingered here too long.”

For a moment it seems like he’s going to push the issue, but he must see something in her face because instead he crooks up the corner of his mouth and looks down at her with a lopsided smile. “Looks like we became torture buddies after all.”

She nearly laughs again (it’s either that, or cry – there’s a nasty cut along the back of his calf too where the fabric of his trousers are shredded and loosely hanging. _Is there a single part of him that hasn’t been hurt trying to save her?_ ), but catches herself in time – settling for a shake of her head and the smallest chuckle through her nose while blinking back tears. Leave it to Poe to try and make her laugh in the midst of imminent danger. “I’d really prefer if we didn’t become prisoner buddies, too.”

The leg cuffs are poorer quality and come free much easier than the others, and Rey barely has a chance to stand up again before Poe is falling towards her, his legs too weak to hold himself up properly. She loops her arm underneath his shoulders, encouraging him to lean on her. “Come on. I think I saw the way out.”

It would be easier to help him if she put down the sword, but having a weapon seems like a good idea, and so she lets it hang awkwardly from her right hand while maneuvering him into a manageable position.

“You should leave me here,” He grunts, struggling to take a few steps without moaning in pain, “You’ll go faster on your own.”

“There’s that difficult man again.” Rey smirks at him so he knows she’s teasing, and this time it’s Poe’s turn to laugh. “I’m not leaving without you, Poe,” She continues more seriously, dropping her voice to barely above a whisper, “So don’t even consider it.”

“Rey,” He stops walking, sagging against the wall underneath the archway and glancing up at the stairs ahead of them while clutching his ribcage (yep, definitely bruised), “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

“It can wait. Come on.” She grabs his arm again, trying to encourage him to keep going, but he resists with a surprising amount of strength.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It can’t. If we get up there and are caught, you need to promise me you’ll save yourself. If you can see a way out, leave me and run.”

“Poe, no!”

“You have to,” He insists, grabbing her left hand and clutching it between both of his, “Torture I can handle, but if he hurt you.” He closes his eyes, lifting her hand to his lips to press a tender kiss to the back of it. “If he hurt you, I couldn’t bear it.”

“Poe –“ Her voice cracks, and when he opens his eyes she finds she can’t look away.

“I love you, Rey Kenobi. I’m sorry I was too pigheaded to tell you sooner.”

“You love me?” She gasps, unable to prevent the slow, disbelieving smile spreading across her face even if she wanted to. “But I lied. I’m a _servant_. I’m not –“

Poe gently twists her wrist and ducks his chin to kiss her rough, work-hardened palm, effectively cutting her off. “’Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.’” He quotes, and Rey beams when she recognizes the passage from the book of Shakespeare that he’d given her. “You’re amazing and brave and smart and clever and beautiful and stubborn a thousand other wonderful things. I don’t care that you’re a servant because everything that's happened in your life has made you who you are today. I’m in love with you, and I need you to know that before we face whatever waits for us up those stairs.”

It seems to good to be true. It _is_ too good to be true. But he seems so earnest and he’s said it twice now and he even used her name. Her _real_ name.

Maybe, just this once, she’ll let herself believe in fairytales.

Leaning in slowly, Rey gives him the opportunity to change his mind, but it seems Poe has no intention of doing so because he meets her in the middle. Kissing her with three weeks of built up passion and longing, his mouth warm and his lips soft and comforting and arousing all at once.

She wants to bury her hands in his hair, press her body against his, and keep kissing him until neither of them remember where they are, but it isn’t long before he has to pull away to catch his breath and the sound of distant footsteps reminds her they really _need to go!_

“I love you, too.” Rey loops his arm back around her shoulders and starts the laborious endeavor of climbing the stairs. “Just… so you know.”

“If we survive this,” Poe grunts, waiting a few more steps to finish speaking, “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“You’re asking me now? Like this?” She can’t help but grin at him through her teasing, and Poe laughs.

“I believe in seizing the moment.” He pauses long enough to turn and kiss her temple. “Will you?”

“Ask me again when we aren’t about to die.” There's humor in her voice, but it's also a genuine request. He’s suffered a serious head-injury, they’re in the middle of a daring escape, and probably both high on the relief of finding each other alive. She can’t be sure he’s serious until they’re no longer in danger, and she won’t hold him to anything he’s potentially said out of stress.

If he still wants her to marry him after all this is over, well... she knows what her answer will be. 

It’s slow-going, but they manage to make it up the staircase and out of the lower levels, all the while being haunted by the seemingly ever-present echo of footsteps that seem to get neither closer or farther away. It sets her nerves on edge, and she can tell from the way Poe’s gone silent and tense at her side that he’s nervous too.

It’s quiet. _Too_ quiet. Unnaturally so for a house of this size. There should be visitors and servants and a kitchen staff and people rushing too and fro. Some sort of sign of life. But instead it’s just… dead. Cold and grey and lifeless. Whatever warmth and love ever existed here has long been snuffed out.

“We’re almost there,” Rey whispers, barely speaking loud enough for Poe to hear her even with her talking so close to his ear, “It should just be through the great hall and then down a short hallway.”

Unfortunately, when they get there the large door to the great hall that had been propped open on her way down to the dungeon is now closed, and she’s going to have to pry it open while praying that there’s no one waiting on the other side. Sneaking around corners, hiding behind furniture, all of that can go unnoticed, but a door unlatching and swinging open? That’s kind of hard to keep secret.

“Are you sure about this?” Poe props himself up against a nearby pillar in full view of the room around them, ensuring that they’ll at least have some sort of warning should someone try to come up behind them.

“No,” Rey admits, “But we have to try.”

The latch lifts easily enough and so she begins to open the door inch by inch, peeking through the gap and doing a thorough survey of the room before beckoning over her shoulder for Poe to follow. It appears to be empty, only the dwindling embers in the fireplace providing any evidence that someone lives here, and her shoulders relax while her heartbeat slows to something resembling normal.

Poe limps after her as best he can, and Rey waits for him to catch up before continuing – moving around the side of the large table and keeping close to the wall as they get nearer and nearer to their destination. She can almost smell the fresh air and hear the birds waiting in the treetops.

But then the door in front of them slams open. The very one they need to escape through. And Kylo Ren marches into the room in a tempest of black.

It seems to take a moment for the scene to register, shock written all over his face as he stares at the two of them in stunned silence, but when it does his expression becomes exactly as crazed as Rey had expected. Full of fury and hatred.

“What are you doing with him?” He points his finger accusingly, and Rey unwittingly takes a step back before bumping hips with Poe as the two of them attempt to move protectively in front of the other at the same time.

“We’re getting out of here,” Poe replies gruffly, lifting his arm off of Rey and standing up as straight as he can manage, “So please get out of our way.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Kylo hisses, widening his stance in front of the exit.

“Yes, we are,” Rey grits her teeth to hide their chattering, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword, “Please move.”

“I don’t think so. Not with him. Not ever.” Kylo’s words are biting, his expression almost feral, and Rey takes another step back.

There must be some other way. Some other path through the castle that will lead them to a back door or a low enough window that they could jump out of. If only Poe could run, they might stand a chance at escaping without having to fight.

As if reading her thoughts, Poe mutters, “Run,” out of the corner of his mouth, flicking his eyes back the way they came to indicate which path she should take, and Rey shakes her head.

“What?”

“I told you. Leave me and run. Save yourself.”

He must be insane if he thinks she’s going to leave him now. Whatever their fate may be, it will be the same.

“And _I_ told _you_ no, remember?” She slips her hand into his and squeezes, flashing him a quick smile when he squeezes back.

Which was absolutely the worst thing she could have done.

The sound of a sword being unsheathed draws her attention back to their present danger, and Rey gulps when the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the high windows glints off of Kylo’s sword – almost making it appear to flash red for a moment. “You are mine,” He utters darkly, pointing at them with his sword, “You belong to me.”

“Rey doesn’t belong to anyone,” Poe argues back, wheezing slightly with the effort of standing up on his own, “And certainly not to you.”

“I will cut you down where you stand, Dameron, and deliver your body in pieces to that traitor you call a mother.” Kylo raises his weapon and starts to advance, and Rey reacts by jumping in front of Poe and holding her sword out protectively, taking him by enough surprise that his foot hesitates over the next step. “What are you doing?”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Rey replies with more confidence than she feels, thinking of Finn’s fight against Kylo and how swiftly he’d been defeated. She’s been practicing sword fighting for practically her whole life, but as a hobby, not… not against a real threat like this. _Will she even last five seconds against him?_

“I don’t want to fight you, Rey.” He looks pained, and she believes he’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t matter when he takes a few more steps and keeps his sword held high. It’s his choice to make, and by refusing to let them pass he’s already made it.

“I don’t want to fight you, either.” She grips the hilt tighter, inhaling slowly and recalling everything her father taught her about good footwork and a solid defense. It’s her only hope of standing against him.

“Then don’t,” He pleads, holding out his left hand to her, “Join me.”

Poe tenses behind her, opening his mouth to say something, but Rey shakes her head. She’s already made her choice, too. “I will never join you.”

With a cry she lunges towards him, knocking him off balance when he’s forced to swing his sword around to parry her blow, but he corrects himself almost instantly, and Rey gambles by spinning around him in the hope that he’ll follow her and move farther away from Poe.

Thankfully, he takes the bait, but what ground she’d hoped to gain by not having to defend Poe so closely disappears under his relentless, aggressive assault. Each clash of their blades nearly knocks her to the floor, and she finds herself hitting chairs and slashing tapestries just as often as landing hits against him.

Kylo sweeps his sword around hers, twisting it painfully, until she’s forced into an awkward angle with her own blade inches from her face, her muscles straining with the effort of pushing back – desperately trying not to lose her grip or decapitate herself.

“You can stop this, Rey,” Kylo grunts, sweat beading along his hairline and dripping down his prominent nose, his face inches from hers as he uses his extra height to force her to lean back, “Just say you’ll join me and this will end right now. You were nothing, but you don’t have to be. I can give you unlimited power.”

_No._

Rey closes her eyes, consciously commanding her body to relax, her heart to stop rapidly pacing, her mind to stop panicking - finding and drawing upon that inner strength she’s always possessed. The will to keep fighting. And when she re-opens them to find Kylo, the man who would tear her down only to re-build her like a doll, staring hopefully back at her, she knows she can beat him.

“I am not nothing. I was never nothing and the power you offer I don’t want or need!” She drops to her knees and rolls around him, causing him to stumble forward at the sudden loss of resistance, and by the time he’s turned around she’s standing and ready for him.

Her attacks become wild and savage and Kylo doesn’t have time to adjust to her new untamed style before she’s able to slash her sword across his thigh, cutting him down.

He cries out in pain, only dropping to his knees for a split second before rising again and coming at her, but Rey thrusts her sword out and cuts his left shoulder, making him fall back again.

Pressing her advantage, she swings her sword around and in one swift move cuts Kylo’s face from his jaw, across the bridge of his nose, and up to his forehead - narrowly missing his eye.

He staggers backwards almost in a stupor, and when he curls in on himself to clutch his wounded face she kicks his chest so that he falls back into a wooden chair, then drives the sword through his thick black jacket to pin him to it. Effectively imprisoning him. “I am not nothing,” She repeats, emphasizing each word slowly and with significance, staring into his wide eyes – wet with blood and tears - with a level of hatred she’s never felt before.

"Perhaps we're more alike than you thought," Kylo mumbles, covering his injury with his hand and applying pressure.

It takes her by surprise, the sudden realization of what it is she’s done, and Rey falters – horrified by her own actions. _I would never hurt anybody_ , hadn’t she told him that just today? And yet here she is, standing across from a man she’d nearly blinded in her own anger.

“Rey!” Poe’s urgent shout from the other side of the table draws her away from her grim thoughts before they can consume her.

Confident that Kylo can’t follow them, she runs back around to the other side of the table. “Hurry!” She tugs Poe’s arm over her shoulder again, pointing at the door while refusing to look at him. “We have to go before his knights show up.”

What will she see if she looks at Poe's face now? Fear? Horror? Disgust? She doesn’t dare find out.

“What’s our plan? I can’t walk home like this.” Poe gestures to himself with his free hand. “The castle is miles away. And although I know you're strong enough to carry me, I don’t think even you could make it that far.”

They slip out of the other door to the great hall, shutting it, and its master, behind them, and Rey can see the last door blessedly only a couple of yards down the empty hall. “I think I saw Black One hitched up outside. They must have left him there after capturing you.”

“Oh,” Poe breathes a sigh of relief, “That's good news. I was worried about him. Hey,” He nudges her side with a smile, “Now you’ll be able to prove you’re the better rider. Although, I’m not sure it counts if your competitor is injured. We’ll have to check the rule book.”

He’s teasing her again, trying to lighten the mood, but she barely hears him. He came all this way to save her, because he loves her, but how can he love her now that he knows what she’s capable of? Can he forgive her for doing something so awful?

And, more importantly, can she forgive herself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting so close to the end, guys! If you're still here, thank you so much for sticking with this story. Readers truly are a ~Rey~ of sunshine. <3


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey escape and head directly to the village to see Finn. Important conversations are had.

****

Black One flies as he winds his way around the trees, galloping over the damp earth in long even strides - as if he can hardly feel the weight of the two riders on his back. The wind whips through his mane, stinging the backs of Poe’s hands where they grip the saddlehorn, but Poe hardly notices the pain. It’s nothing compared to the way his bruised ribs seem to slam against his lungs with every bounce or the steady throbbing in his head or the aching in the back of his calf where he’d been cut with a sword. And those are all nothing compared to the euphoria he feels humming like a current through his veins.

He’s free! And not only that, but Rey is free as well! They made it out of Exegol in one piece (mostly) and are making their way back to the castle _together_. This might be the best day of his life.

(Well, minus the beatings he’d been subjected to and the seemingly endless rounds of questioning about his family and their castle and any weaknesses present in both, but he’s choosing not to think about that right now. Escape comes first.) 

Rey had been amazing. First showing up in that dungeon glowing in the low light like a guardian angel sent straight from heaven, then figuring out such a brilliant way to break open his shackles, then practically carrying him through Exegol by herself. And that sword fight? He’s never gone from terrified to awestruck so quickly. She’d managed to turn a battle she should have lost into a resounding victory with some quick-thinking and clever maneuvers and saved them both from certain death.

_“I am not nothing_.” Damn right. She is _everything_.

He can feel her now, pressed up against his back – her hands wrapped around his torso and stretched out in front of them so that she can hold onto the reins and help keep him balanced (he’s not going to fall off, but she’d seemed so worried about the possibility he hadn’t bothered to argue), and the steady, solid presence of her body goes a long way to healing his mental wounds. Asking about Rey had only made Kylo Ren hit harder, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours nearly paralyzed with fear at the thought of what such an erratic, obsessive, vile man might have subjected her to. They’re not out of the woods yet (pun intended), but they will be soon, and once they’re back at the palace he’ll make sure the royal guard is dispatched immediately so that Kylo Ren no longer poses a threat to her or anyone else.

“Take a right up ahead!” Poe calls back to her, pointing at where the trees begin to diverge into two paths. “It will lead us to the main road.” There they should be safe. Peasants regularly traverse the main road, merchants use it often – either for travel or sometimes to sell alongside it, and even a man as bold as Kylo wouldn’t dare attack the prince so openly exposed.

He feels Rey nod, her chin bumping into his shoulder, and her legs tighten slightly around Black One as she prompts him in that direction. She was right, she’s a natural on horseback, and he can’t wait for the day when the two of them can go out riding together. Maybe he can buy her a horse as a wedding present. As great as he’s sure Artoo is, Rey could use a proper mount that can keep up with her youth and skill.

Eventually the forest starts to thin, the canopy above starts to allow more of the afternoon sun to filter through – spreading over the surrounding foliage in bright patches of dappled yellow - and before long they come down over a hill and out onto the road that will lead them home.

_Home_. Never has he been more grateful to be riding towards the castle than he is in this moment.

“Do you mind if we stop in the village?” Rey slows Black One to a canter so that she can speak at a more normal volume, her question coming out tentative and unsure, and Poe frowns at the sudden timidity that seems to lie underneath the surface. “I want to see Finn.”

His response is immediate, and he covers one of her hands over the reins and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“It’s just,” She hesitates, “If you’d rather go straight to the castle, I’d understand. You can leave me outside Master Phasma’s studio.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Poe replies firmly, and Rey inhales sharply. Did she think he’d abandon her or let her out of his sight so soon after nearly losing her forever? “I’m happy to stop there. I want to make sure he’s alright, too.”

Rey sighs, her breath tickling the base of his neck and causing his skin to break out in goosebumps. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Rey,” Poe half-huffs, half-grunts as Black One comes down particularly hard on a bounce, “He’s your best friend. Besides, I owe him an apology.”

“You do?” She leans her head over his shoulder so that she can hear him better, cocking it to the side, and Poe takes advantage of the opportunity to give her a quick peck on the cheek – pleased when she blushes in response.

He hums, nodding his head. “I made him a promise and I broke it. I need to make amends.”

“What promise?” Rey asks curiously, urging Black One forward when he starts to slow to a walk – no doubt tempted by the sweet grass growing on the side of the road - but Poe only smirks. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, if Finn even lets me through the door.” That’s a sobering thought, and his smile falls. It’s entirely possible that, as Rey’s best friend, Finn won’t be so forgiving about the pain and trouble Poe’s caused – however unintentionally. A grudge that wouldn’t be entirely without merit. Poe’s not sure he’d forgive himself either, in Finn’s position. Hell, he doesn’t fully forgive himself _now_. If he hadn’t been such a stubborn fool he and Rey could have spent the last few weeks together and Finn never would have been hurt and Rey never would have been sold and... and… and perhaps he does deserve to suffer a bit more for his actions.

“Why do you say that?” The village comes into view, and Rey physically perks up in her seat at the sight of rooftops emerging in the distance.

“Let’s just say the last time we spoke certain words were exchanged.” Poe absentmindedly rubs his throat. Is there any apology in the world that can convince Finn of his remorse? He can only hope so.

Once they arrive at the art school Rey can hardly dismount fast enough – pausing only so that she can patiently help Poe down off Black One before practically sprinting across the courtyard and into the house. She doesn’t bother to knock, or wait for Master Phasma to grant her entrance, just takes off up the wide staircase and around the corner above, leaving Poe limping after her.

He doesn’t mind though. He can hardly blame her for feeling anxious about Finn and wanting to run to his side. Her level of devotion to her friend is commendable, and Poe can only strive to be the kind of person that would inspire such devotion from her someday.

Although Rey apparently knows the school well, it takes Poe a few tries to find the right door. He walks in on two different classes by accident, as well as stumbling upon two teenage boys kissing in a storage closet (hastily shutting the door as quickly as he’d opened it – nearly laughing out loud when he heard one of them say, _“Oh shit! Was that the prince?_ ”), before finally finding Finn’s room.

It’s a decently sized space, almost large enough to be a small studio itself, with a large window on the far wall that Poe guesses lets in enough light to paint by on sunny afternoons. But it’s obvious no one has done any painting here for quite some time. Finn’s art supplies appear to have been hastily stacked in the corner, their usefulness replaced by jars of medicine and salve and a pile of clean strips of cloth. There’s a trunk propped open on the far wall with ladies’ garments messily packed inside, and a physician’s book propped open on the table, and on the side of the room opposite the window sits Finn himself.

He’s propped up on the edge of the bed with Rose anxiously sitting next to him, her hands hovering over his body as if ready to jump into action at a moments notice. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and so Poe can see where his back is covered in bandages – still healing from the wound Kylo Ren gave him in their swordfight. If he’s still recovering nearly three weeks later, it must have been terrible.

_Another injury that’s my fault_ , Poe mentally kicks himself. If he lives to be one hundred, he’ll never stop feeling guilty over the pain his actions have brought to those around him.

Rey’s dragged a chair over to sit in front of Finn, clinging to both of his hands with her own and holding on so tight that Poe can see her knuckles turning white even from his spot by the door. “I’m so relieved to see you,” She chokes out through her sobs, and Poe’s heart lurches inside his chest, “I’ve been so worried. Kylo refused to tell me anything – wouldn’t even let me ask about you. I had no idea if you were… if you…”

“I’m alright, peanut,” Finn whispers, sagging forward so that his forehead rests against hers, “I’m getting stronger every day and the physician has promised that, thanks to Rose’s care, I’ll make a full recovery, although not without some scarring.” He groans and Rey sniffles quietly as she wipes away her tears before they can fall onto his lap.

“It was crazy, what you did.” She straightens, fixing Finn with a look, and he opens his mouth to argue just as Rey continues, “But you tried to help me, to _save_ me –“ She lets go of his hands only to throw her arms around his neck, careful not to dislodge any bandages while she hugs him. “Thank you, Finn.”

Finn returns her embrace, burying his face in her shoulder, and Poe looks away – catching Rose’s eye and offering her a small smile. It’s a strange feeling, to be on the outside witnessing such a bond, and yet not feeling any jealousy over it. Maybe on a superficial level there’s a hint of envy, but Poe is relieved to find that it doesn’t go any deeper than that. He’s happy to know that Rey has such a good friend, that growing up – as lonely as he can only begin to imagine it was, knowing as little as he does – she wasn’t completely alone.

“I’m only sorry it didn’t work,” Finn mutters as she releases him, looking down at his lap, “I’m sorry that bastard –“

“No,” Rey covers his mouth with her hand, cutting him off, “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. The only person responsible is my evil stepmother. She gets to shoulder all the blame for everything that’s happened. Not you, not me, not anyone else.”

“Rey,” Finn tries again, gently removing her hand, but Rey firmly shakes her head.

“No. _She_ is responsible, _Kylo Ren_ is responsible, but you, Finn, are not,” Rey insists, emphasizing each word, “Besides, if you had been able to defeat him she probably would have had you arrested and accused of murder, so in a way _not_ winning probably saved your life.”

“If you say so, peanut,” Finn huffs out a laugh, bumping her knee with his, and she nods.

“I do. Now tell me everything I’ve missed – how are you here, Rose? Isn’t the Baroness furious that you’re here helping Finn?”

Rose reaches out for Finn’s hand, and he immediately takes it – lacing their fingers together with practiced ease and smiling encouragingly – and Poe has to hide his own smirk. In all the drama, he’d almost forgotten her mentioning she was living here now. “I’ve broken with my mother,” She whispers, and Rey gasps.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Rose bites her bottom lip, squeezing Finn’s hand a little tighter, “After you were taken, Mother refused to call a physician or do anything about Finn. I asked if she was going to help him, but she just turned up her nose and marched back towards the house with Paige. In that moment, it was like the veil had been lifted over my eyes. I’ve always known she was,” Rose pulls a face, “Not the kindest woman. The way she treated you was… well, all I can say is that I’m sorry I never stepped up. I was afraid of her, and I don’t think I even released how much. But when I saw her leaving Finn lying there with no remorse, I knew I could stay silent no longer. I told her I was going to help Finn, no matter what. She,” Rose hesitates, glancing sideways at Finn before taking a deep breath, “She said some pretty nasty things. Basically she told me if I helped him I’d never be welcome in her home again. So I said, well, that worked out fine for me because I was planning on making a home with Finn, anyway.”

“I’ll bet she reacted well to that news,” Rey says sarcastically, chuckling, and Rose giggles.

“I wish I’d been conscious.” Finn lifts Rose’s hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “I’m sure it was quite the sight to behold.”

“She was apoplectic!” Rose waves her arm out to the side, giggling, but sounding as if she’s still shocked and trying to process what happened as well. “Screaming and shouting. I’ve never seen anything like it. But my decision was made. Maurice brought the cart around and helped get Finn into the back of it, and together we came to town and got Finn up into bed while Master Phasma summoned the physician.”

“Phasma _helped_?” Rey asks in amazement, and Finn nods – looking equally surprised.

“Can you believe it? I guess the old battle-axe doesn’t hate me as much as we’d thought.”

“Well,” Rose stammers, blushing and glancing over at Poe, “We may have told her a fib about Finn being friends with the crown prince, and that Prince Dameron wouldn’t be too happy to find out his friend had been poorly treated. Master Phasma jumped into action the second we mentioned it. I hope you don’t mind.” She tilts her head in Poe’s direction, and he laughs.

“Mind? As far as I’m concerned, it’s the truth. And you’re welcome to use my name any time you need it.” With any luck, after today the four of them really will be friends. 

“Paulette and Louise packed up what was left of my things after Paige raided my closet and brought them to me.” Rose gestures to the open chest. “As you can imagine, it’s not much, but it was nice of them to try. I’ve been living here ever since.”

“Are congratulations in order?” Poe asks, grinning despite the way it pulls uncomfortably on his split lip. The hopeless romantic in him is greatly enjoying this turn of events. It’s like the ending of a fairytale.

But instead of a happy response, Rose hurriedly rushes to state, “Everything’s been proper!” and Poe’s smile falls. He hadn’t meant to imply –

“That’s not –“

“We’re planning on getting married as soon as Finn is well enough, we promise.”

Rey reaches out and softly covers Rose’s knee with her hand. “I don’t think Poe meant to imply otherwise; he’s just trying to say that he’s happy for you. We both are. I can’t wait to come to the wedding. You’re going to be the prettiest bride, Rose.”

“’We,’ huh?” Finn grunts, raising an eyebrow towards Poe. He doesn’t sound particularly pleased at Rey’s use of the word and his eyes are full of silent judgment, and Poe gulps nervously.

“Yeah,” He nods, praying for Finn’s approval, “We.”

At least, he hopes there’s a “we.” But Rey isn’t looking at him and Finn and Rose are eyeing him speculatively and, faced with the physical consequences of his actions, all he can think is that he’s caused everyone in this room a lot of pain. Maybe his conversation with Rey in Exegol had been a fever dream and the truth is he doesn’t deserve to be happy.

Finn just hums, a noncommittal sort of sound that Poe can’t make heads nor tails of, and then looks back at Rey. “So that’s our story. Now tell us everything that’s happened to you.”

Quietly, Rey begins to tell Finn and Rose her story, although Poe can tell she’s leaving a lot out – trimming out her emotional reactions to being imprisoned and merely conveying the basic details of what had happened during those two weeks in the tower. Halfway through her sparse description of Kylo Ren’s visits, Poe pushes off the wall he’d been leaning against and walks over to put his hand on her shoulder in a silent offer of support, and Rey leans into him with a tiny smile.

The action does not go unnoticed by Finn, and Poe can feel his eyes burning a hole into the side of his head. _Yeah,_ he thinks, _I’ve got some explaining to do of my own._

“I was in the middle of escaping when I heard Kylo talking to someone about Poe,” Rey continues, answering some of Poe’s own unasked questions, “I realized they must have taken him prisoner, too, although I didn’t know how or why. They mentioned the dungeons and so I knew my only option was to try and rescue him.”

“Eh,” Finn shrugs, wincing when the motion pulls the muscles of his back, “You didn’t _have_ to.”

“Finn!” Rey and Rose both shout at the same time, looking up at Poe like they’re worried he’s going to be angry, but he just chuckles.

“That’s fair. I did tell her to leave without me.”

Rey’s already shaking her head before he has a chance to finish speaking. “That wasn’t something I was willing to do. He’s the prince and I knew Kylo was plotting something – he’d,” She hesitates, biting her lip, “He’d mentioned to me some of his plans – anyway… I knew I couldn’t leave Poe there, so I broke him out and then thankfully his horse was still outside and we rode away.”

Poe frowns at her hasty summary. Why wouldn’t she mention the most important part? And what exactly had Kylo Ren told her about his plans for the kingdom that has her looking so uncomfortable?

“That’s it?” Finn frowns as well, apparently equally dissatisfied with her explanation. “You escaped just like that? Didn’t Kylo Ren notice?”

“He –“ Rey pauses, visibly searching for the words she wants, and Poe struggles to understand the source of her agitation. She should be proud of her actions. She’d saved them both! “He intercepted our path. I was able to fight him off long enough for us to get away.”

“You fought him?” Finn gapes at her, his mouth slowly twisting from open shock to beaming pride. “I always knew you were amazing.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Rey is quick to dismiss his compliment, but Poe jumps in before she can downplay her actions any further.

She deserves all the praise – doesn’t she know that?

“It _was_ amazing,” He insists, “She fought with skill and bravery – as strong and as clever as any knight. Kylo Ren was no match for her.”

“Wow, Rey,” Rose breathes, blinking at her stepsister with wide eyes, “I had no idea you knew how to sword-fight.”

“I just… I did what I had to do,” She mumbles, abruptly standing up from the chair and moving away from them.

_What’s going on in that head of hers?_ Poe wonders, watching as she wraps her arms around her chest and turns her head to face the window. If he had to guess, he’d say she was ashamed of her actions, but that can’t be right. He can’t think what she could be feeling guilty about when all he wants is to shout his admiration from the rooftops.

“Would you like a bath, Rey?” Rose jumps up from the bed, breaking the awkward silence with her perky question and a kind smile. “We have a basin set up behind the folding screen over there, and I’d be happy to fetch hot water for you.”

“Oh,” Rey blushes, looking down at her dress – even dirtier now from the horse ride than it was earlier, “I don’t want to inconvenience you –“

“Nonsense,” Rose interrupts with a wave of her hand, “It’s no trouble at all. You can borrow one of my dresses when you’re done. I’m sure you’re ready to be out of that one, and, well, I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve been wanting to burn that thing for years.”

“Rose!” A laugh bursts out of Rey, and Poe smiles to hear it.

He thinks she looks beautiful, but that hasn’t blinded him to the fact that her dress is filthy and worn ragged. How long has it been since anyone bought or made her something new? He’s used to seeing her in nicer dresses, but logic tells him those must have been borrowed from her stepsisters. A necessary part of her disguise. Her every day life must be so different from what he’d assumed it was. He’s learning new things about her every second, and Poe makes a mental note to discover all he can about Rey’s childhood. Then he’ll know how to begin to make things right.

“I’m just telling the truth!” Rose laughs, ushering Rey behind the folding screen, and Poe shares a chuckle with Finn at the sound of the two girls giggling happily.

After a few moments filled with the sound of rustling fabric, Rose leaves to get the water, and Poe tries very hard not to react at the sight of Rey’s dress wadded up in her hands – off to the garbage. That means Rey is across the room, wearing – _No, Poe_. No. He’s not going to think about that.

He spots a stack of canvases piled up against the wall, and he makes his way over to take a look, thumbing through the various generic still-lifes and practice paintings until he comes across a familiar portrait. It’s a painting of Rey sitting in front of this very window in a white gown, gazing wistfully through the glass as if dreaming about her future, _U_ _topia_ held open in one of her hands. Her long brown hair flows down over her shoulders in waves, and Finn had masterfully captured all of its varied hues as they shine in the morning light. And her hazel eyes are somehow full of emotion – hope, fear, grief, strength, love. “It’s perfect,” He murmurs, running his fingertips over the curve of her jaw. The perfect embodiment of all that she is, painted as only someone who knows her well can.

A masterpiece.

“Thanks.”

Poe nearly makes Finn an offer right there, trying to calculate what would be reasonable, yet generous, but he turns to find him watching him with a scathing look – an expression he’s given free rein to now that they’re practically alone.

“You’ve looked better,” Finn gives him the once over, cataloging each one of Poe’s injuries, and Poe chuckles awkwardly, returning the canvas to its place before rubbing the bruise on his side and lowering himself carefully down into Rey’s now-vacant chair.

“I’ve felt better, too. But it’ll all heal eventually.”

“Rose told me you went to save Rey, but I didn’t believe it.” Poe opens his mouth to reply, but Finn carries on. “I didn’t believe that the man who so callously tossed her aside that night at the ball could be the same one riding to her rescue. ‘Why,’ I asked myself, ‘Would someone so selfish and arrogant bother to help the woman he promised not to hurt, and then dumped at the first sign of trouble?’” He raises his eyebrows, and Poe takes that his signal to start talking.

“I was an idiot, Finn, and I have no excuse. I was blinded by my own hurt feelings that night at the ball, and I broke my promise. For that I can only say how sorry I am, and that – believe me – I would take it back if I could. I’m sorry it took so long to see my mistake, and I’m sorry that you and Rey were hurt because of my own ignorant stubbornness.”

“You love her?” Finn asks, revealing nothing, and Poe solemnly nods.

“More than anything.”

“For all that she is?” He presses. “Servant, orphan, poor, no title – knowing all of that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Poe agrees fervently. “I love all of her, exactly the way she is.”

Finn hums noncommittedly, leaning back slightly and shifting around on the mattress to find a more comfortable position. “And have you apologized to her?”

“I did back at Exegol,” Poe glances towards the screen across the room, wondering what Rey makes of their hushed whisperings, “I believe she forgave me, and I plan on proving myself worthy of that forgiveness.”

It’s true she hadn’t said the words exactly, but she did give him an apology of her own and kissed him and said that she loved him, and she hadn’t said _no_ when he’d proposed marriage, either, so he has every reason to hope.

Finn gives him a hard look, dropping his voice so low Poe has to strain to hear him. “Are you going to marry her?”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Then, I suppose, if Rey can forgive you, so can I.” Poe starts to smile, but Finn holds up his hand. “As long as you understand that if you hurt her like that again, I’m going to have to kill you. And yes, I’m aware that threat is treasonous, and frankly, I don’t care.”

“I’m fine with that.” He doesn’t plan on making such a mistake ever again, but if he does, he’ll deliver himself to Finn for punishment without complaint.

“Well,” Finn sticks his hand out, smiling at Poe for the first time that afternoon when he takes it, “Welcome to the family, Poe Dameron.”

Poe grins, and the door opens as Rose returns with the water, pausing to look curiously at them both before slipping behind the screen and filling up the tub for Rey before coming back to join them.

She retrieves a few jars off the table and some strips of cloth, and Finn groans.

“Don’t give me that,” She tsks, sitting back down beside him and gently pushing on his shoulder to get him to twist around so that she has access to his back, “You know the drill. It’s time to change your dressings.”

“It might be necessary, and I might be grateful, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.” Finn props his elbows on his knees and drops his chin into his hands, pressing his lips together and inhaling sharply as Rose starts to remove the old bandages piece by piece.

Feeling useless, Poe picks up one of the jars and tentatively sniffs its contents, pulling a face when the sharp, pungent smell hits his nostrils. “How can I help?”

“Here,” Rose hands him a second jar and a spoon, “Mix these two ingredients together until they form a thick paste. Make sure there aren’t any big chunks, we need it to spread smoothly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Poe gives her a two-fingered salute, and Rose blushes.

It’s not hard work, but he takes it seriously. Focusing intently on the speed of his stirring and the consistency of the paste and making sure to break down any clumps as soon as they begin to form. It’s nice, feeling helpful, and it also keeps him from noticing every time Rey moves around in the bathtub.

(Oh, who is he kidding, he still notices, but it’s not an _active_ notice, so he counts it as a win.)

Unfortunately, the second he’s done and handed the jar back over to Rose, there’s nothing left to distract him, which is why he’s acutely aware of the sound of sloshing water and the pitter-patter of wet feet on the floor as Rey moves about drying off and getting dressed. And when there’s a loud thunk and a muttered curse of pain, Poe jerks his head up just in time to catch sight of her around the edge of the screen.

He knows he shouldn’t be looking. A gentleman would avert his eyes and politely forget all he had seen. The ivory dress Rose had given her is only pulled up to her waist, her form barely hidden by the thin white shift she wears – clinging to her damp skin – but it isn’t that that catches his notice so much as the fading red marks he can see crisscrossing the pale expanse of her back. And once he sees them, he can’t look away.

Poe springs out of his chair, ignoring the curious glances from Rose and Finn, and crosses the room in long, limping strides.

“Rey.” She jumps at the sound of her name, tugging the dress up awkwardly in the front to cover herself, but Poe stops her with a touch at the elbow before she can turn around to face him. “What happened?”

He traces over the marks with the tips of his fingers, his touch as light as a feather. They’ve almost completely healed now, but they must have been excruciating at the time, and he trembles to think what might have been their cause. He’s seen enough men whipped to know this didn’t come from falling off a horse or a farming accident. But who could do such a thing?

A shiver passes through her as his fingers dance over her spine, and she inhales sharply, but doesn’t move to stop him. “It’s nothing.”

“Did _he_ do this to you?” Poe asks darkly, anger flaring inside his heart, red hot and furious. Is that why she couldn’t bring herself to talk in detail about her interactions with Kylo Ren? He’s going to kill him. Capture and a lifetime imprisonment aren’t good enough for that bastard.

To his surprise, however, Rey shakes her head. “No, the Baroness.”

_The Baroness_. Her stepmother is even worse than he’d thought if she can inflict such pain upon another human being. Especially one in her employ, a daughter entrusted to her care who she was supposed to love.

“Is this because of me?” He gasps, horrified. Was this Rey’s punishment for daring to spend time with him? For ‘stealing’ his affection away from Paige?

_Do you know what she’s been through in the last twenty-four hours? Everything she endured because of you?_

Finn was right. Poe knew nothing.

But Rey surprises him again with her answer. “No, it’s because of her. She did this because she wanted to. As punishment for daring to stand up for myself. It’s not your fault, Poe, any more than it is mine.”

Poe spreads his hand out, pressing his palm gently over where a majority of the lines are, and leans down to kiss her shoulder – running his lips across her bare skin and letting his eyes fall closed. As if they’re children and a simple kiss is enough to take away her pain. “I’m so sorry, Rey,” He murmurs against the crook of her neck, “If I’d known, I –“ Her body disappears and at first he thinks she’s pulling away from him, but he opens his eyes to find her turning to face him instead. She reaches up to cup his face, thumbs softly stroking along his jaw, and he covers one of her hands with his own – reassuring himself once again that she’s here. That she’s safe. “I’ll never let her, or anyone, hurt you again. You have my word.”

The smile she gives him is so sweet, so trusting, that Poe can’t help but kiss her. Wrapping both of his arms around her waist and pulling her in close so that he can deepen the kiss. Grinning against her mouth when her hands find their way to his hair and immediately become tangled in his wild curls.

It's terribly indecent, but Poe can’t bring himself to care much about decency when he lightly sucks on her bottom lip, flicking it with his tongue, and she whimpers as she opens up for him.

That is, until he hears a throat clearing right behind him and Rey pulls away, looking over his shoulder with bright crimson cheeks.

“Are congratulations in order?” Finn teases sarcastically, and Poe steps away just enough to regain some sense of control while still standing in front of Rey to maintain her modesty. Not that she really needs it – she seems to have done up the rest of the dress in record time, her nimble fingers flying over the laces. “I don’t seem to recall a wedding happening in the last five minutes, but forgive me if I’m wrong.”

“It’s no different than the two of you,” Poe tosses back, turning around and gesturing to where Rose is standing trying not to laugh. “We’re engaged.” He feels more than hears Rey’s head jerk up to look at him, and he amends, “Well, almost. Sort of.”

“Fair enough,” Finn shrugs, hobbling over to one of the chairs and sitting down, “But could you try not to do that in my _room_? Rey’s practically my sister. It’s weird.”

“I suppose that’s a reasonable request,” Poe concedes, although he can’t quite bring himself to feel embarrassed or remorseful. That had been a _great_ kiss. One he would very much like to repeat. Soon.

“Um, actually,” Rey steps up beside him, now fully clothed and mostly presentable, minus her damp hair she’s currently pulling back into a quick braid, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Something in her expression has his heart uncomfortably skipping a beat, but Poe nods and follows as she leads him out onto Finn’s tiny, narrow balcony. There’s barely enough space for the two of them to stand side by side, but she still manages to get the door closed and face him – wringing her hands and staring at his chest rather than his eyes.

“I don’t,” She starts, then stops, twisting around to lean out over the balcony instead, and he takes in her profile while waiting for her to decide how to continue, “What you said back at Exegol. Before… before we got out. I don’t hold you to that, you know.”

“What?” He cocks his head and leans one elbow against the railing, an entirely different sort of ache blossoming in his ribs.

“You were injured and probably half-delirious and looking for a way to show your gratitude and I know you meant it in the moment, but if you’ve changed your mind I’ll understand. You can take it back.”

“I don’t want to take it back.” Her head spins to look at him, but he simply covers her fidgeting hand with his own where it rests between them on the stone ledge. “That’s twice you’ve saved my life now, Rey, and I’m infinitely grateful for both times, but that isn’t why I want to marry you.”

“It’s not?” She asks hopefully, finally daring to look him in the eyes, and he smiles.

“No. I want to marry you because I’m in love with you, because I want to build a life with you, and because I like that look you get in your eyes when I’m being difficult and you’re about to yell at me.”

“Poe!” She laughs, playfully slapping his chest with her free hand, and he captures that too, bringing it up to his mouth for a kiss.

“See?” He grins. “That’s the one right there.”

Rey returns his smile for a moment, but then her eyes begin to dim, the smile fading into a frown. “You’re not… you’re not afraid of me? Or horrified by what I did to Kylo Ren?” Her voice drops to a whisper, and Poe has to lean forward slightly to catch the rest. “I hurt him. I almost _killed_ him. And part of me felt good doing it.”

She looks devastated by the confession, and the missing puzzle pieces click together. She didn’t want to brag to Finn because she thinks that what she did was terrible, but he doesn’t see it that way, and Poe doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her in a warm embrace. “Oh, Rey, no. Please don’t apologize for doing what you had to do to save us. Battles are ugly things, and no one comes out the other side feeling entirely good about themselves, but he wanted to kill us, and you stopped him. You saved our lives. Please don’t feel guilty about that.”

“It scared me, Poe.” She brings her arms up, tucking them between their chests and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “There was this strange sort of thrill when I started winning, this rush of adrenaline, and it nearly drove me to do something terrible. How can I ever forgive myself, knowing now that there’s a piece of me that relishes the feeling of revenge?”

“To want revenge is to be human.” It’s an emotion he’s all too familiar with, and one he’s witnessed both on the battlefield and off it. One does not spend their whole life at court and not learn to recognize lex talionis – the law of retaliation. And one does not lose their beloved parent at a young age without wanting vengeance, even if their enemy is a nameless disease they have no hope of fighting. “What’s important is recognizing when our actions are being driven by a just cause, and when they have more selfish motives. You were fighting for our lives, and when you felt you went too far, you pulled back. You’re a good person, Rey.” He drops a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of rose oil from her bath. “I know that in my bones.”

“I hope so,” She whispers, her lips barely moving against his throat, and Poe coughs awkwardly to hide the rather unmanly giggle that threatens to burst free at the surprisingly ticklish sensation. 

“You _are_.” He releases her, gesturing towards the door. “And if you’re ready, I’d very much like to take you home and introduce you to my parents now. As my _fiancée._ ”

Rey blanches, her eyes going wide, and Poe nearly laughs when she splutters, “Right! The King and Queen. I forgot.”

“You forgot who my parents were?” He teases, wiggling his eyebrows, and Rey swats his shoulder again.

“I forgot that marrying you meant joining the royal family. What if they don’t like me? Or approve of their son engaging himself to a servant?”

“Considering that they spent the last few weeks practically begging me to stop moping and go find you, I don’t think they’re going to be too shocked,” Poe deadpans, laughing at the expression on her face.

“Are you sure you want a wife who knows more about scrubbing floors than serving tea?” Rey asks, biting her lip to hide her smile, and he nods, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and letting his fingers linger on her cheek in a caress. 

“I want my Sunshine, just how she is.” Rey’s smile is blinding, living up to the nickname he gave her, and he kisses her long and hard, pouring as much of his love as he can into that one kiss. “Plus,” He gasps, trying to catch his breath, “Beebee missed you, so you really need to come home with me, at least for an hour.”

Slowly her face shifts from surprised to playful, and Rey smirks at him. “Oh, _Beebee_ did, hm?”

“Yeah,” Poe grins, pulling her in for one more kiss, regrettably much shorter than the last, “Beebee.”

Poe’s exhausted by the time they reach the castle. Being knocked unconscious doesn’t really count as sleeping, and it’s safe to say this has been the most eventful day of his life. Torture. A daring escape. Romance. An engagement. His head is practically spinning with the whiplash of it all. He’s barely able to muster up enough energy to take Black One into the stables, apologizing to the groom (who’d looked about ready to faint at the sight of Poe) for being away so long and how hungry and tired his horse is, but there’s still much to do before he can collapse into bed.

Now that they’re safe and the threat of re-capture is behind them, he can tell that Rey is lagging too. Her footsteps shorter, her speech slower, and he tucks her under his arm as they walk into the castle together.

“Your Highness!” The captain of the guard runs towards him the second they’ve walked through the doors, anxiously looking him over – his face growing darker by the second. “What on earth happened to you? We were just about to mount a search party.”

“Rey, may I introduce the head of the Royal Guard, Captain Antilles.” Poe gestures between them, and Rey does the same funny curtsy she did the first time they met. It makes much more sense now, why she’s so bad at it, and he finds her clumsiness endearing. “Wedge, may I present my fiancée, Rey Kenobi.”

“Your –“ Captain Antilles splutters, but snaps into action when Poe silently raises his eyebrows. “It is an honor, My Lady.” He drops into a low bow, and Rey goes stiff, unsure how to respond at being treated like a noble woman. But it’s something she’ll have to get used to, if she’s to be his queen.

“Where’s my father? I want to see him directly.”

“The King and Queen are both in his office, I believe,” Captain Antilles replies, “He was very concerned when you didn’t return last night, but he made us wait twenty-four hours before riding out after you.”

“Listen, Wedge,” Poe stifles a groan as he shifts his weight onto his bad leg, attempting to hide how serious his injuries are from the older man, “I need you to round up all your men and ride directly to Exegol. Make sure you wear armor and have all your weapons close at your side. You need to arrest Sir Kylo Ren and his knights for treason against the crown.”

This seems to surprise him even more than the sudden appearance of a new fiancée, and he takes a step back. “Treason, sire?”

“Yes. He took me hostage and made threats against the King and our kingdom. He must be apprehended and brought to justice.”

Captain Antilles hides his shock well, straightening his spine and bringing his hand to his forehead in a stiff solute. “Very good, sire.”

“And Captain Antilles,” Rey interrupts, stopping him right before he can leave and looking uncomfortable when he stares back at her, but forging ahead with determination, “Have someone send for your best physician, please. Prince Dameron needs attending to.”

“I’m fine.” Poe tries to wave off her concern, but the effect is somewhat ruined when the action tugs at the bruised muscles in his side and makes him grimace.

“No, you’re not. Those ribs need binding and I want someone to look at that leg before it gets infected.”

“It hardly hurts. I’ve had worse injuries from falling off my horse.” Rey fixes him with a look that lets him know she knows he’s lying and she won’t be taking no for an answer, and he gives in. “Okay, fine. Send for the physician.”

“Right away, Your Highness.”

Captain Antilles runs back down the hallway, shouting for the attention of his men as he goes, and Poe takes Rey’s hand and leads her over to the large staircase that will take them up to see his parents. With any luck, nobody else will be around and they’ll be able to slip into his father’s office unnoticed. Gossip is inevitable, but he’d like to delay it as long as he can. Especially with the imminent arrest of Kylo Ren coming. The court will be rife with speculation soon enough.

“What do I say to them?” Rey whispers as they draw closer to the large double doors at the end of the hall. Her eyes have hardly stopped moving since they entered the castle, darting about from one thing to the next. Her mouth gaping at the ornate tapestries and elegant furniture. It must be such a change from her own home, he can’t wait to give her a proper tour. Later, though, when they aren’t both in danger of passing out from exhaustion.

“Just be yourself,” Poe whispers back, giving her hand an extra squeeze, “You don’t need to be formal.”

“But they’re the king and queen!”

“Yes,” Poe chuckles, “But they’re also my parents. They aren’t scary, I promise.”

“But –“

But he doesn’t hear what she has to say, because he’s already turning the handle and pushing the door open, limping through with Rey by his side and smiling when Kes jumps out of his chair and crosses the room to sweep him up in a tight hug.

“Poe! Thank god you’re back – you’ve been gone so long we – are you _hurt_!?” 

“I was a bit delayed in my journey. I’ll explain in a minute,” Poe sighs, sinking into his father’s arms a bit more and soaking in the comfort and security that comes from them before pulling away so that he can properly introduce Rey. “Father, _this_ is Rey Kenobi – the woman I love.”

“Welcome, Rey.” Kes tears his concerned gaze away from Poe’s injuries to smile warmly at her, taking both of her hands in his own and holding them close. “It is so nice to finally meet you. Let me introduce you to my wife, Queen Leia Organa Solo Dameron.” He throws out his arm proudly, gesturing to where Leia had come up behind him, and she gathers Rey up into a hug of her own without preamble, earning a shocked squeak that has Poe sharing a laugh with his father.

“It’s just Leia,” Leia tells Rey, “Please.”

“Leia,” Rey nods, her cheeks tinged pink and her hand seeking out Poe’s again for comfort, “It’s nice to meet both of you, as well. I’m sorry about pretending to be –“

“Nonsense.” Leia waves her off. “My brother Luke told me all about it - the truth about your situation, the Baroness de Tico, how you saved your servant Maurice. Kes and I understand, and we aren’t angry with you.”

“You aren’t?”

“No, mija,” Kes smiles, sharing a look with Leia, “We’re not. Besides, Poe loves you, he’s chosen you, and I trust my son. I know he’s made the right choice.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Poe smiles, blinking back unexpected tears, touched by his father’s faith in him. He knew his parents would welcome Rey, but he hadn’t expected to feel so emotional about it. Like everything is settling into place, exactly how it should be. Absentmindedly, he reaches for the ring hanging around his neck and gives it a quick squeeze, wishing his mother could be with them, too. 

“You both look like you’re dead on your feet. Here,” Leia guides Rey over to the large sofa, helping her sit down and taking the seat next to her while Kes sits down in his favorite armchair across from them. Poe practically falls onto the sofa beside Rey, appreciative for every inch of the soft cushions and the relief he feels at no longer having pressure on his injured leg.

“What happened, mijo?” Kes asks in concern, and he sighs. It’s not a subject he looks forward to discussing with his stepmother. Kylo Ren is still her son, after all, even if he's going by a different name and they are estranged. But he answers the question honestly, explaining to both of them how the Baroness sold Rey to Kylo, how he’d imprisoned her in the tower at Exegol and how Poe had ridden there to save her – only to get captured himself.

The story of their escape he waters down for Rey’s sake, sensing her lingering discomfort from their conversation earlier, and finishes by informing them that he’d sent the Royal Guard out there tonight to capture Kylo Ren.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” He murmurs, unable to look her in the eye, “But I couldn’t let him go free knowing what he’s planning.”

“Of course you couldn’t, Poe.” Leia reaches across Rey’s lap to place her hand on his knee, her voice sad, but her face full of understanding. “He deserves to be brought to justice for what he’s done. I’m only sorry to hear that my son has caused so much pain. I didn’t… I guess I didn’t think he was capable of something like this.”

“None of us did,” Kes agrees, reaching out for his wife’s other hand, “I’m shocked he took it this far. When he was young there did seem to be a certain… resentment for our family, but we thought it was just a childish fit of temper. It got worse as he grew older, and when he _inherited_ Exegol he broke all ties with us and we just… assumed giving him space was the best course of action. Perhaps we did wrong.”

“I’m not sure forcing a relationship was the answer, either,” Rey suggests quietly, “I don’t know him as well as you do, obviously, but his lust for power was made obvious to me these past few weeks. I’m not sure it’s something that could have been quelled by invitations to visit.”

Leia slowly nods her head, grief reflecting deeply in her brown eyes. “Well I suppose I’ll have the chance to speak to him soon enough. I’d like to talk to him alone, Kes, when he’s brought in.”

Poe watches his father breathe deeply, pressing his fingers together in against his chin while he thinks it over, before he finally hums in agreement. “If you think that’s wise, my dear, then of course that’s what you must do.”

“I’m his mother,” Leia replies, although her voice lacks its usual conviction, “He might open up to me if we’re alone.”

Kes tears his eyes away from his wife to look back at Poe and Rey, forcing a smile. “And what about you two? What’s your plan for the future now?”

“Get married,” Poe answers honestly, his eyelids heavy and already beginning to droop, “Be happy.”

“Yes, mijo,” Kes chuckles, “But _when_?”

Leia clears her throat, drawing him back from the brink of sleep. “There is some concern over the Baroness. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and if she finds out that you intend to marry Rey, she may refuse to give her permission out of spite.”

“Do we need her permission?” Rey asks, gnawing on her bottom lip while scrunching her eyebrows together. Poe wants to tug it free, preferably with his own teeth while kissing her, but that wouldn’t be appropriate in front of his parents.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Kes sighs, leaning back in his chair, “Being the king only gets me so far. You’re not twenty-one yet, and so as your guardian she still has the right to choose whether she’s going to allow you to get married. I could override her, but it wouldn’t look good to the other members of the court if I or Poe were seen to be stealing a daughter away from her disapproving family without their consent. That isn’t the reputation I want for your marriage, or for my son.”

“So then what do you propose?” Poe forces himself to sit back up, his muscles feeling stiff and achy now that he’s not moving around enough to distract himself from noticing their pain. “We can’t wait another two years to be married!”

Kes smothers his laugh, and even Leia has to hide her own smile. “We understand you’re both eager to be married,” She chuckles kindly, “But this has to be done the right way. Your father and I have talked about it, and as crazy as it seems – we think the answer is actually to elope. For the two of you to be married immediately – tomorrow, in fact – before news can get out to anyone in the court or to the Tico family.”

“It will be a shock,” Kes adds, “But I think the members of the nobility will find it romantic, and,” He gives Poe a teasing look that has his ears burning, “Not entirely without precedent for a prince with such an impulsive reputation. This will rob the Baroness from an opportunity of changing the narrative, she won’t want to risk damaging her own standing among the other courtiers.”

“We’re hoping she’ll want to twist it to her own advantage and be grateful for the new royal connection.” Leia smiles at Rey, but Poe is surprised to find that instead of happy she’s looking sort of... green.

“You don’t have to say yes, Rey,” Poe tells her immediately. He wants to, of course. As far as he’s concerned this is the best plan he’s ever heard! He’s never cared about having a big wedding, and being able to marry Rey _tomorrow_? Well, how could he not want that! But only if she wants it, too. He doesn’t want her to feel forced into anything. “It’s sudden and if you’re not comfortable with the plan we don’t have to do it. We can wait as long as you want.”

“It’s not that.” She slowly shakes her head. “I’m just worried about what she might try to extort from you. I don’t,” She shifts so that she can face him better, “I don’t want to see her again, Poe. I don’t want her in my life anymore.”

The image of her back pops into his head, and the anger from earlier returns with it. _Of course._ Baroness de Tico doesn’t deserve to live her days basking in the golden glow of royal in-laws. She has been a neglectful landowner, a terrible mother, and a horrendous stepmother. “She should be arrested.”

The vehement words surprise everyone in the room, including himself, but he doesn’t take them back.

“Arrested?” Leia cocks her head, glancing back and forth between him and Rey. “Whatever for?”

“She abused Rey, Leia.” Poe releases Rey’s hand only so that he can put his arm around her shoulder, turning back towards his parents. “That can’t be allowed to go unpunished. I don’t want her lingering around the castle like a bad smell, waiting to pounce on Rey whenever she wants something.”

Kes slides forward on his chair until he’s sitting on the very edge and leans forward on his elbows, speaking softly to Rey. “If you have witnesses, mija, we can have the Baroness brought up on charges of child abuse. I don’t tolerate these things happening in my kingdom. Not to anybody.”

“No.” Rey shakes her head. “I don’t want a trial. I just want her to leave me alone – that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“But, Rey,” Poe starts, fully intending to press the issue with her until he catches Leia shaking her head at him as well.

“Let me think it over tonight. I’m sure I can come up with something. In the meantime, Poe you need to go lie down before you pass out, and Rey, I’m sure you’re tired as well. I’ll show you to one of our guest rooms.”

Somewhere the normal, healthy part of him wants to protest. Wants to stay here and talk this out until they have a solution. He hates not having an action plan, doesn’t do well sitting still and waiting, but the worn-out part of him wins – succumbing without argument to Leia’s suggestion and allowing his father to help tug him back off the couch. The physician will no doubt be waiting for him in his chambers, and he worries what sort of wrath might be elicited in Rey if he doesn’t see him as soon as possible. Not to mention the fact the he desperately needs a bath and change of clothes.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” He whispers in her ear, holding her close in one last embrace before Leia takes her away to one of the guest bedrooms. (Probably purposely not telling him which one it is, although he doesn’t have the energy for sneaking anywhere tonight, however tempting the prospect might be.)

With one last smile and a kiss on his cheek, Rey disappears, and Poe sags against his father, allowing him to carry him back down the hall where he can finally, blessedly, rest peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! We're getting so close to the end, guys! Thank you all for continuing to come with me on this journey <3


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A royal elopement and the Baroness gets a comeuppance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! For quarantine, my life sure did get busy over the past two weeks.

****

Life in the palace, Rey is quickly learning, is nothing like life at home. At home she would have woken with the dawn, probably in front of the fireplace, taken care of basic hygiene, and then headed outside to get to work. She wouldn’t have bothered bathing – there would hardly be a point when she was only going to be feeding pigs and hoeing vegetables all day – and any soot or dirt on her hands would have been dismissed as the normal side effect of hard work. And as for the manor itself? It would have been as silent as a tomb for many hours, its owners content to sleep in and be lazy.

But that’s nothing like the palace.

No, this morning she’d awoken from the deepest sleep of her life to the sounds of a house already bustling with activity. Servants tending to fireplaces, cleaning every available surface, and hurrying to assist the king and queen and any other nobility staying in the castle. Any other night she would have tossed and turned – full of restless energy and plagued by thoughts of all that had transpired - and probably appreciated the signal that if others were up and about, she had permission to be so as well, but last night she’d been so exhausted her eyes had closed the second they’d hit the pillow and hadn’t opened again until a young servant girl knocked the poker off its stand by the fireplace and woke her up. Murmuring a string of apologies that had made Rey feel both embarrassed and uncomfortable.

The girl had _curtseyed_ and called her _m’lady_ and acted as though she were a member of the nobility! As long as Rey lives, she’ll never get used to that.

The news that she was awake must have spread quickly, because almost the second she’s out of bed an older woman sweeps into the bedchamber accompanied by two other women, all carrying various garments and other supplies, and introduces herself as Lady D’Acy – the Queen’s head lady-in-waiting.

“Her majesty sent me to help you get ready, although for what she won’t say.” She gestures for the other women to begin filling the tub, a much larger basin than Rose’s, before looking back at Rey with a knowing twinkle in her eye. One that says she knows _exactly_ what’s going on. “All I’ve been told is that today is an important one for you and that we’re to make you look your best. Lady Tyce has brought you a few dresses to choose from,” Lady D’Acy points to one of the women, and the two of them share a fleeting, affectionate glance, “Hand-chosen by the Queen herself. And Lady Connix will be responsible for doing your hair. You’ll find no one more skilled than her – she knows all the latest styles.”

Rey wants to tell them not to waste the water, explain that she’d had a bath only yesterday and they needn’t make such a fuss, but Lady D’Acy reaches for her shift and helps tug it over her head before she has the chance, practically pushing her into the tub with an unladylike splash.

“What bath oil would you like?” Lady Tyce holds up a tray filled with brown bottles, each carefully labeled with delicate handwriting. Scents ranging from rosemary, saffron, and cloves to lavender, sandalwood, and lemon.

To Rey, used to bathing only with the rough soap she made herself, it’s overwhelming, and she’s equally grateful and embarrassed when Lady Connix whispers, “The Prince likes oranges with his breakfast, so I imagine he likes the smell of orange blossoms, too.”

Lady Tyce clears her throat, fixing Lady Connix with a pointed look that has her apologizing and rushing across the room to help Lady D’Acy lay out the gowns without another word.

“Orange blossom,” Rey quietly requests, hoping her blush isn’t too noticeable, and Lady Tyce smiles. If she suspects anything, or knows the truth like Lady D’Acy, she doesn’t say, and Rey appreciates that. It’s strange enough being on the receiving end of a servant’s help, she’s not sure she could bear it if she had to deal with gossip or teasing.

Every bone in Rey’s body is screaming at her to send the three women away. To take care of getting ready herself and make do on her own as she’s always done. But they move so efficiently, no dawdling, no awkward pauses while they wait for her, that she bites her tongue and determines to let them do their job. That last thing she wants is to seem ungrateful to Queen Leia when she’d been thoughtful enough to send help, especially after the warm welcome she’d received the night before. Perhaps it’s a topic they can discuss after the wedding. She’ll have to ask Poe what the proper protocol is on keeping house as a princess.

_The wedding_. The thought of it simultaneously sends the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly and a terrified thrill down her spine. She’d never anticipated marrying Poe so soon. Well, to be honest, she’d never anticipated marrying Poe at _all_. A few weeks ago it had seemed like nothing more than an impossible daydream, and his proposal at Exegol she’d forced herself to dismiss as the ramblings of a concussed man. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have anticipated the King and Queen giving their permission and suggesting an elopement – or that Poe would have been so enthusiastic about the idea even after being given time to reconsider. Even now it feels as though one good pinch on her arm and she’ll wake up from this beautiful dream to find herself back in that cold, lonely tower.

_Get married. Be happy_. His quiet answer to his father’s question about what he wanted for their future had set her heart alight. No grand declarations, no elaborate plans, just a simple, straightforward, honest response. It couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d tried.

Happiness is a foreign concept to her, but she knows she can find it with him.

Lady D’Acy ushers her from the tub, pulling her out of her thoughts and wrapping her up in a heavy robe before guiding her to the bed. “Now, dear, which one do you want to wear?”

Three gowns have been laid out over the mattress. The first is emerald green with silver embellishments and baubles stitched into the sleeves. The second is pale gold with strips of ivory and looks like it belongs in a painting more than on a person – too grand and magnificent for a girl fresh from the farmyard. The third is instantly Rey’s favorite. Maroon silk with delicate gold embroidery, but nothing so overwhelmingly ostentatious as to make her feel too much unlike herself. “This one.” She points, and Lady D’Acy grins.

“Excellent choice. That was the Queen’s favorite as well.”

It’s a tornado of fabric after that. A new shift made of the softest linen, so pristinely white that Rey’s afraid to touch it despite her bath. New stockings with gold ribbons to tie them up above her knees. The swirl of silk as the dress goes over her head and the tug of the laces at her back before the sleeves are pulled up over her arms and tied on at the shoulders. She feels a bit like one of the dolls she used to play with as a child.

Once she’s dressed, she doesn’t even have a moment to admire herself in the mirror before Lady Connix is gently pushing her down into a chair and weaving her hair into braids. “Do you want it all up, or something a little different?”

Rey looks at the three women, noting their pulled-back hairstyles. Each one is pretty and elaborate, but with nothing left down. It’s the same way the queen had worn her hair the night before, so it must be fairly common among the upper class for all the hair to be done up, and she opens her mouth to say as much to Lady Connix before she remembers all the times Poe had touched her hair. Tenderly tucking it behind her ears or, just the once on their picnic, passionately burying his hands in it. “Can you leave half of it down?”

For half-a-second she worries that her request is too scandalous, but Lady Connix merely smiles and nods. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”

With her hair done the ladies gather up their supplies and leave as quickly as they came, informing her that someone will be along shortly to see her.

After the chaos of the last hour, the room seems eerily silent now, and Rey makes her way over to the bookshelf in the corner. It’s coated in a thin layer of dust, just enough to show the tracks left behind by the most popular books when they were either removed or returned. A few are novels, but most seem to be philosophical or scientific in nature, and Rey selects the one with the thickest amount of dust around it, feeling sorry for the poor, forgotten tome.

“Praise of Folly,” She reads the title aloud, “By someone called Erasmus.” The title seems a bit ridiculous and antithetical to everything her father taught her (why would anyone praise the lack of good sense?), but she flips it open anyway. Scanning across the pages to try and discern if it’s something worth reading.

_"They're quite wrong if they think man's happiness depends on actual facts; it depends on his opinions... real facts often take a lot of trouble to acquire... an opinion, on the other hand, is very easily formed, and it is equally conducive to happiness, or even more so."_

Well, Rey leans against the bookshelf to get comfortable, he’s not wrong about that. Although thankfully opinions are much more mutable than facts, otherwise she’d never have gotten to know Poe past her initial impression. She laughs when she thinks of their first meeting in the courtyard. Arrogant? Self-centered? The opinion she’d formed so quickly that afternoon could not have been more wrong.

Turning the pages back so that she can start at the beginning, she almost doesn’t notice when the door opens – only looking up at the pitter-patter of paws crossing the room, her only warning before finding Beebee sniffing around her skirts and begging for attention.

“I see you’ve already started reading.” Poe smirks, jerking his head towards the book in her hands. “Wait until you see our library. I imagine once you step inside, I won’t see you again for at least a month.”

Rey smiles and ducks her head, returning the book to its proper place and noting the fresh marks it leaves behind in the dust. _There_ , she thinks satisfactorily, _now it isn’t quite so neglected_.

Happy to see the friendly dog again, and briefly wondering if fate had anything to do with their initial meeting over a month ago, she bends down to give Beebee a proper greeting, petting his neck and giving his forehead a kiss – laughing when he enthusiastically tries to lick her face and barks hello – before finally turning towards Poe.

He looks much better this morning. Well-rested and his injuries obviously carefully tended to. The bruises are still there, but not _quite_ so vibrant, and his limp is not as pronounced. And the cuts and scratches have all been neatly cleaned. It eases fears she didn’t realize she was subconsciously harboring, and her muscles relax one by one. _He’s healing_. He’ll be alright.

The overall effect is enhanced by his midnight blue jacket, trimmed with gold thread and left open at the collar, and the gold and pearl livery collar draped across his shoulders. He looks every bit a prince and Rey’s struck speechless by just how handsome he is.

His eyes run the length of her body, taking in her appearance, and Rey shifts awkwardly underneath his intense stare. Hopefully the dress and hairstyle she’d chosen measures up to what’s expected of his class. “You look beautiful this morning, mi amada,” He finally says with a warm smile, “Happy.”

_Mijo, mija, mi amada_ – she’s going to have to learn this beautiful language he shares with his father.

“I am happy,” Rey readily agrees, returning his smile. Somehow, happy doesn’t seem enough to explain the depth of her joy, but she doubts she’d be allowed to do cartwheels through the garden, so it will have to do.

“I’m glad to hear that, but I’ve got something I need to tell you, Rey,” He says slowly, his smile fading as he picks up one of her hands to help her stand back up and holds it close to his chest, running his thumb back and forth across her knuckles in a gesture she’s sure is intended to be comforting, but instead sends little shocks up her arm. A thousand anxious thoughts erupt inside her mind at his troubled expression, worries that the Baroness has found out about them, that the King has withdrawn his permission, that Poe doesn’t want to marry her after all, but instead of any of those he sighs and says, “Kylo Ren is missing.”

“What?” Rey gasps, staring at him uncomprehendingly. _How can this be?_ “But I thought you sent Captain Antilles to capture him?”

“I did.” His grip on her hand tightens, and he uses his other one to rub the back of his neck. “Apparently by the time he arrived at Exegol, it was too late. The estate had been abandoned and all the Knights of Ren had disappeared, including Kylo. My men followed what trails they could find until early this morning, but they must have split up because there were too many tracks to follow and the trails went cold once it joined up with more regularly traveled routes. He’s gone.” Poe huffs, clenching his jaw so tightly Rey can see the muscles bulging, and stares at the window. His eyebrows pinching tighter together the longer he broods.

Fear. It washes over her in a deluge of panic and foreboding, threatening to drown out her senses and make her blind to anything but the distress she feels knowing that he’s out there in the world – no doubt furious at her and already beginning to plot his revenge – and her instincts are telling her to run. To leave this place and the people she loves so that he has no cause to hurt them in his quest for retribution. To, perhaps, face him head on rather than live with this threat like a shadow hanging over her.

But then Poe draws her into an embrace, wrapping his arms gently around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and her vision clears as air floods into her lungs. She isn’t in this alone. Whatever threats Kylo made against her, he made ones against Poe as well, and despite her habit of going it alone all these years, she can already imagine his argument about how they’re a team now and stronger together. It’s something else she’ll have to learn to get used to.

“I’m sorry.” Rey impulsively leans up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his jaw, hoping to alleviate some of the tension and stress, and Poe’s eyes go wide in surprise. “I know what this must mean to your family. The threat he poses.”

Taking a few tendrils of her hair between his fingers, Poe strokes the soft strands, validating Rey’s hairstyle choice and earning a small, pleased smile. “It’s not my family I’m worried about,” He admits quietly, his eyes finding hers.

She can see the emotions churning behind them. Concern, fear, impatience, and something she dares now to call love, and Rey gently cups his cheek with the palm of her hand. “I can take care of myself, you know.” She winks, satisfied when his mouth twitches.

“Believe me,” He chuckles, “I know. But it’s all the more reason to get married today. As my wife and future queen I’ll be able to offer you my full protection, as well as that of the royal guard. That is,” He hesitates, searching her face, “If you’re sure you want to. You can say no, you know. We didn’t have any time to talk about this last night and I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing something you’re not sure about. It won’t hurt my feelings if you need to postpone.”

_He really means that_. She can see it in his face. Genuine, selfless concern she’s only ever received from three other people. If she didn’t already know that she’s in love with him, now would have been the moment of revelation. “I’m certain, Poe,” She smiles, kissing his cheek, “I want this. I want you.”

Heat flashes in his eyes and it’s her only warning before his lips find hers. Lips she’s only just begun to be familiar with, but already wants to spend a lifetime memorizing. Somehow, he manages to make her feel like she’s a precious gift and a dessert he wants to consume all at once. Passion radiates from him, barely restrained, seeping into her through his mouth and his fingertips and his body and arousing feelings and desires in her she didn’t know she possessed. 

It’s a dangerous, heady feeling, and Rey is forced to tear her mouth away to catch her breath – panting as she clutches his shoulders for support while the room spins around her.

“I think, Prince Dameron, that’s supposed to happen _after_ the wedding.” She places her hand over her chest to steady herself, feeling the way her heart pounds against her sternum, and Poe laughs even as his cheeks flush crimson.

“Yeah,” He ruffles his hand through his hair, having the decency to look somewhat bashful but with a certain wicked gleam in his eye that sends a new kind of heat pulsing between her legs, “I guess you’re right. Strictly speaking the couple isn’t supposed to see each other before the wedding, either. I came in here with the best intentions, I swear.”

“Mmhmm.” Rey arches her eyebrow, not believing him for a second, and Poe laughs.

“Mostly good intentions,” He concedes, taking her hand and leading her towards the door, “Come on, Rey Kenobi, let’s go elope.”

The room Poe had chosen for their staged elopement is smaller than she’d expected, but warmly decorated, with windows facing east that allow the light to shine like twin beacons onto the marble floor. A quick look around tells her this must be the family’s private chapel. There’s a simple golden cross on the far wall, a wooden podium with an ancient family Bible laid open to a bookmarked page, and a few benches padded with crimson velvet cushions, as well as a small shelf of votive candles steadily burning in the corner. Rey’s never had much time for faith – her focus has been too consumed by the necessity of the here and now – but here, tucked away in a section of the palace cordoned off from any other members of the nobility, she can see herself learning about a higher power.

Poe laces their fingers together and guides her down the short aisle, past Snap and Lady Pava – the two friends Poe had told her would act as their witnesses (to give the king and queen plausible deniability about the whole affair), to where Master Luke waits for them under an archway. It’s a thing of beauty, with tall, ornate columns covered in figures and scenes hand carved by some magnificent artist and draped in fresh flowers, and Poe smiles when he catches her look of wonder. “This was my father’s idea. He thought even an elopement could use a little ambience.”

“How on earth did he manage to have it made in time?” Rey gazes up at the bunches of white blossoms, breathing in their heavenly citrus scent.

“Actually,” Poe reaches behind her to run his fingers across one of the carvings, “My grandfather made this for my mother and father’s wedding.”

“Oh.” Rey is overwhelmed by the significance of the gesture. The King really is blessing their union, not just out of deference to his son’s wishes, but genuinely giving his approval by allowing them to be married under the same bowery he married his beloved first wife.

Silently, she moves to pinch herself under her sleeve – smiling even as she winces when the sharp pain doesn’t wake her from this dream.

“If you two are ready to begin,” Luke interrupts with a pointed cough, “Then we should get started before the entire court catches wind of what you’re up to.”

“Thank you for doing this, Master Luke.” Rey lets go of one of Poe’s hands to squeeze Luke’s, and his expression changes from one of faux annoyance to genuine happiness. 

“It seems as though the fish has learned to fly, after all.” He winks, and Rey laughs, leaning forward and surprising him with a kiss on the cheek. “I knew you were his match.”

Once she’s returned to her place, standing across from Poe with both of their hands joined, Luke begins the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. The most remarkable moment in life is when you meet the person who makes you feel complete. The person who makes the world a beautiful and magical place, who helps you learn and grow, who challenges you, and who can share in both life’s joys and sorrows in equal measure. Your soulmate. Despite the bumps that occurred along the way, and” Luke chuckles,” let me just take a moment here to say, ‘I told you so.’” He looks pointedly at Poe, who has the decency to look chagrined. “I truly believe that Poe and Rey have found their soulmates in each other. I am both honored and proud to act as their officiant today. Poe, I believe you had something you wanted to say before the vows.”

_What?_ Rey has a moment of panic. He’d never said – she didn’t know they were supposed to write something. She’s never attended a wedding before and assumed Luke would handle all the speaking and all she’d have to do was say yes. But then Poe smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear, and her racing heart calms.

“I asked if I could add something,” Poe explains, as if reading her thoughts, “It’s a passage I remembered from Shakespeare’s _As You Like It_. ‘Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, ‘I love Rey’; say with her, that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other.’” He pauses, taking a deep breath, and Rey finds her own stopped by the depth of emotion in his dark eyes. The tenderness and open affection that she hopes will never fade. “My mother taught me to believe in enduring love, to hope for a bond that was strong and unbreakable. She’d be proud to know I’ve found that with you.”

Tears threatening to overflow, Rey surges forward to kiss him – only to huff in surprise when Luke abruptly stops her with a rough hand on her shoulder.

“Hang on!” He laughs, echoed by Snap and Lady Pava, and Rey flushes with embarrassment. “We’re getting to that part, just be patient.”

She swears she hears him mutter _kids these days_ , too, but chooses not to say anything.

“Now, Poe Dameron, do you take Rey Kenobi to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

“I do,” Poe responds without hesitation, and Rey could swear her heart doubles in size.

How is it possible for one body to contain so much emotion? She feels ready to burst any moment.

“And do you, Rey Kenobi,” Luke continues, capturing her undivided attention, “Take Poe Dameron to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forevermore?”

“I do.” She nods solemnly, and Poe’s answering grin is blinding.

He reaches underneath his shirt and pulls the silver chain over his head, carefully undoing the latch and sliding his mother’s ring free until it’s resting in the palm of his hand. “A symbol of my enduring love,” He repeats himself, echoing their conversation the night of the bonfire in the forest, and then gently slips the silver band onto her waiting finger.

“A perfect fit,” Rey whispers, amazed at how right it feels. How comforting the sight of it is. She’ll never take it off.

To think that night in Hondo’s camp she’d stared at this ring and agonized over what kind of woman would eventually capture his heart – bemoaning their imagined noble status and ladylike attributes – and now it’s _her_. She’s his _wife!_

No sooner has she said the giddy words than his mouth finds hers in a passionate kiss, wiping any other thoughts from her head, and Rey succumbs completely. Trying and failing to care about their audience or the holy ground they’re standing on or the fact that his father and stepmother are no doubt waiting for them downstairs.

Somewhere nearby Snap whistles loudly, and Poe pulls away with a breathless laugh. “Sorry.” He shrugs one shoulder, utterly failing to look anything but smug while apologizing to Luke. “I think I skipped another step.”

“So impatient,” Luke tsks, shaking his head, “I only have one more thing to add. It will take trust to know that in your hearts, you truly want what is best for each other. It will take dedication to stay open to one another – and to learn and grow together. It will take loyalty to go forward together, without knowing exactly what the future brings. And it will take commitment to hold true to the journey you have both pledged today.”

His words hang heavy, adding gravity to the ceremony that quickly sobers her up, and Rey stands up a little straighter – nodding at Luke. She’s excited and overjoyed and eager to begin married life with Poe, but it’s important to remember that their marriage will take work – there’s still so much they don’t know about each other, so much to learn, so much growing to do. And there’s the added threat of Kylo Ren, regrouping somewhere out there in the wilderness, hanging over their heads.

This won’t be easy, but she knows in her heart it will be worth it. 

Rey looks at Poe and finds his brow furrowed, his posture serious, and she squeezes his hand – sharing a reassuring smile with him that’s probably more for her own benefit than his. He’s always so confident, so self-assured and ready to jump into action. She’ll have to learn to draw on those strengths when her own confidence fails.

“It is my honor and relief to declare you married. _Now_ you can kiss.” He waves his hands and rolls his eyes, and Rey giggles – shrugging off the gloom and kissing Poe again.

She keeps it short and appropriate this time, a simple chaste peck on his lips, before turning to greet his friends.

“Congratulations!” Snap jumps up off the bench, walking towards them with open arms and pulling them both into a warm hug at the same time, almost crushing Rey against his chest in his enthusiasm. “Welcome to the family, Rey! And can I just say – I’m personally incredibly grateful Poe married you and not your stepsister. No offense. I can’t imagine Lady Paige fighting _the_ Kylo Ren and breaking Poe out of Exegol, and I don’t know what I would have done without my best friend brought safely back to the castle.”

“Aw, buddy,” Poe grins, “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“Shut up,” Snap huffs and rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it, and everyone laughs.

“It was nothing,” Rey replies, dismissing his comments with the wave of her hand, but Lady Pava jumps in before she has a chance to finish speaking.

“It wasn’t nothing!” She throws her arms around Rey, catching her by surprise and a mouthful of hair that has Rey spluttering comically while Poe throws his head back and laughs. “You’re amazing. I know we’ve only just met, but we’re going to be best friends.”

“We are?” Rey staggers backwards as Lady Pava releases her. It’s all so overwhelming, she doesn’t know what to make of the offer or the way the two of them have welcomed her with open arms. She’d expected suspicion and months spent earning their trust and proving her loyalty.

“It’s best not to argue with Jess,” Poe interjects, finding Rey’s hand again and threading his fingers through hers, “She wins every time. She did the same thing to me and Snap when we were kids. It’s best just to accept your fate.”

“Best thing that ever happened to you!” Jess slugs him in the shoulder. “Well,” She amends, smiling back at Rey, “Until you, of course.”

Heat floods her face at the unexpected compliment, and Rey ducks her head and bites her lip to hide her smile.

“Come on,” Poe tugs on her hand and starts leading her back down the aisle, “Thanks for coming guys, but we have to go see my parents now.”

“I’m sure they’ve already started planning the official wedding – we better still be invited, Poe!” Snap shouts, and Poe laughs beside her. Apparently not at all surprised by the suggestion of an _official wedding_ , despite the fact that it’s sent Rey’s head spinning.

Official? Does that mean this one wasn’t? It had certainly _felt_ official, and nobody told her they’d have to get married twice!

“Worry about your own wedding!” Poe tosses back over his shoulder. “You can’t keep Karé waiting any longer!”

They slip into the empty hallway, but before they can get very far Rey tugs him into an alcove. “Official wedding?” She asks, cutting to the chase, and Poe shrugs.

“I’m the crown prince. The kingdom might find an elopement romantic, but they’ll still want the pomp and circumstance. Plus, a lot of food and money gets donated from royal weddings – it’s like a holiday for the citizens of the surrounding villages. I don’t want to deprive them of that, do you?”

“No,” Rey mutters, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at his jacket. She doesn’t want that at all, especially if it benefits the people so much, but… “But does that mean what we just did doesn’t count?”

“Oh.” His face softens, and he cups her cheeks with both hands. “Of course it counts. You’re my wife now, Rey _Dameron_ ,” He wiggles his eyebrows, and she half-laughs, half-sighs. Relieved by his answer, and giddy at the sound of her new name whispered reverently on his lips.

“Good.”

“I agree.” He smirks and then leans forward to kiss her. Moving until her back is pressed against the tapestry hanging on the wall – no doubt crumpling the tightly woven threads.

His hands move to her waist, one of them sliding up and around until it’s pressed to the middle of her back while the other clutches uselessly at the fabric. There are too many layers for her to feel them properly, and Rey desperately wishes she could remove her clothes and feel his hands on her skin like she did that morning at the ruins – then burns with embarrassment at the unladylike thought.

_We are in a hallway_ , she mentally chastises herself even as Poe drags his lips across her jaw and down her neck to suck on a spot beneath her ears that makes her knees go weak. _We’ve barely been married for five minutes – this is crazy!_

But despite her shame at the public nature of their display, she can’t bring herself to stop when her hands tangle in his hair and he moans, or when he drops his hand to her thigh and hitches her leg around his waist – pressing his hard length against her center and simultaneously soothing and intensifying the need that seems to burn from within her.

It’s all so new. So unknown. And yet she still wants it. Wants _more._ And she’s almost ready to open her mouth and ask him to keep going when he presses three more kisses to her neck, each one softer and more tender than the last, before pecking her on the lips and pulling away.

“Luke was right,” He chuckles breathlessly, and Rey almost gasps at how dark his eyes are, how blatant his own need is. “We _are_ impatient.”

That makes her laugh, and Rey bursts into a round of violent giggles fueled by the adrenaline pent up inside her in need of a release. “It’s your fault.” She drops her head to his chest, breathing in deeply. “You kissed me first.”

“You kissed me back,” He points out easily, and Rey leans back to look at his smiling face.

“That’s hardly an excuse. No one’s ever made me feel like you do, it makes me lose control. I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Poe’s eyes flash with desire, and he winds both hands around her waist and tugs until their chests are pressed together and his nose is bumping against hers. “You can’t say things like that. My control isn’t very good either, and we have things we need to do today before we can retire.”

“Speaking of,” Rey starts, hesitant to change the subject and much more interested in discussing _tonight_ than she is dealing with the unpleasantness she knows she'll have to face today, “What are we going to do about my stepmother?”

“Ah,” The corner of his mouth crooks up, and he kisses her cheek before tugging her out of the alcove and back down the hallway, “Leia has a plan for that, and I think you’re going to like it.”

The great hall is packed with courtiers. Men, women, and children dressed in their finest outfits and draped in jewels. The room is abuzz with whispers and gossip and barely restrained curiosity. And at the far end King Kes and Queen Leia sit upon their thrones in all their regal splendor, with Poe standing like a majestic statue by his father’s side.

Rey peeks out at everyone from her hiding place behind the door in the corner, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve and periodically adjusting the crown on top of her head. It’s a strange sensation, one that makes her head feel unusually heavy, and she questions once again if it’s really necessary – although this time there’s no one around to hear her. Kes and Leia had insisted she wear it so that her entrance would have the full effect, even though there has been no coronation, and although she hadn’t dared argue with her sovereigns and in-laws, it still feels a little bit dishonest.

In the crowd she can see Finn standing with Rose, and she wonders if he’ll laugh when he sees her dressed up like a princess. She won’t blame if he does. He’s seen her covered in mud and running through fields and riding astride on horseback with no concern for decorum. The teasing is going to be unbearable.

There’s a rustling from the corner of the room opposite her, and the usher enters – capturing the room’s attention. “The Baroness de Tico and her daughter, Lady Paige Tico,” He announces, stepping to the side, and Rey watches as her stepmother and sister sweep into the room dressed in their finest outfits as well. Bowing and simpering and putting on a good show. She’s almost impressed.

They come to a stop in front of the thrones, bowing deeply in front of the king, and Kes lets the silence linger long enough for doubt to flicker on the Baroness’s face before he opens his mouth.

“Baroness,” He addresses her gruffly, speaking loud enough to ensure that everyone will hear him, “Did you, or did you not, lie to Her Majesty, the Queen?”

A hush falls over the crowd that only deepens when Leia adds, “Choose your words wisely, madame, for they may be your last.”

The Baroness stands slowly, her face changing from shock to calculating to innocent in only a matter of seconds. “A woman would do practically anything for the love of a daughter, Your Majesties.” She waits, but when it becomes apparent that this excuse isn’t good enough for either Kes or Leia, she changes tactics. “Perhaps I did get a little carried away, but I was only doing what I thought was best for my country.”

Rey expects a long-winded explanation, perhaps more excuses, but to her surprise Paige turns on her mother without remorse.

“Mother!” She shouts, marching furiously towards her. “What have you done? Your Majesties, just like you I am a victim here. She lied to us both and I am ashamed to call her family.”

Any regret Rey may have been feeling about Leia’s plan dissipates. Both women are self-absorbed, greedy, opportunistic people who aren’t ashamed to lie or manipulate or hurt to get what they want – even if that means betraying each other. They deserve what’s about to happen.

“How dare you turn on me, you little ingrate!” The Baroness shouts, rising to her full height above Paige and sneering down at her.

“You see?” Paige turns towards Kes and Leia with open, pleading arms. “You see what I have to put up with!”

“Silence! Both of you!” Kes commands, standing up and glaring before looking over at Rose and gesturing towards the two women. “Are they always like this?”

“Worse, Your Majesty,” Rose chuckles, and Rey smiles to herself. Allowing her to be in on their plan for justice had been the right choice. She gets to flaunt her happiness in front of her mother, and the Baroness has to swallow the bitter pill that her oft-dismissed younger daughter now ranks higher in the King’s esteem than she does.

“Rose, darling,” The Baroness mutters through gritted teeth, “I’d hate to think you had anything to do with this.”

“Of course not, Mother,” Rose replies sweetly, “I’m only here because of Finn.”

If looks could kill Rose would have dropped dead in that instant, but instead the Baroness is forced to remain silent. No doubt plotting revenge that she’ll never have the chance to enact.

“Baroness de Tico,” Leia announces calmly, “You are forthwith stripped of your title and you and your horrible daughter are to leave this country on the first available boat. Unless,” She pauses for dramatic effect, her gaze sweeping across the room, “By some miracle someone here will speak for you.”

The courtiers look around at each other, no one making a sound, and Rey wonders if anyone will say something. If there’s a single friend out there who cares about the Baroness de Tico and her fate. Is her stepmother so alone that she doesn’t have a single ally who will come to her defense? What a sad life she has lead if even among her equals, the people she tries so desperately to please and impress, she has no one she can truly depend on.

With a hand over her heart, the Baroness turns desperately to one person after another, muttering names and quiet pleas that go unanswered, until finally she’s forced to face the King and Queen again, utterly helpless. “There seems to be quite a few people out of town.”

This is the scenario Leia had predicted though, earlier when they were discussing what to do, and with a subtle nod from her Rey knows now is the time for her to reveal herself.

She enters from the back of the room so that the Baroness doesn’t see her, walking towards the gap in the crowd where the aisle is and fighting discomfort when the courtiers see her and slowly begin to bow one by one – no doubt following the established protocol when seeing the crown placed atop her head.

“I will –“ Her voice fails her, and she takes a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply before swallowing and trying again. “I will speak for her.” It comes out much louder and more confident the second time, and she relaxes just a tiny bit. “She is, after all, my stepmother.”

Both Paige and the Baroness whip their heads around, staring at her with mouths agape, and it’s only after everyone else in the room is kneeling that it seems to dawn on them what’s going on – or what must have happened since the last time they saw each other.

“Your Highness,” The Baroness hisses, resentment seeping from every pore as she slowly drops into a curtsy, and Paige mirrors the action with a furrowed brow and pinched lips.

The two of them never look more alike than when wearing matching sour expressions.

“Paige,” Poe says, not even trying to hide his triumphant smirk, “I don’t believe you’ve met _my wife._ ”

The court is suddenly ablaze with gossip, everyone whispering to each other at once to confirm that they all heard him say the same thing before staring at Rey and wondering aloud who she is, but Rey ignores them. Paige’s face has gone the most startling shade of green, and a small part of Rey can’t help but relish this moment.

“Rey, darling,” The Baroness starts, attempting to stand back up and looking contrite, “Surely you –“

“I want you to know,” Rey interrupts her, no longer afraid of punishment and feeling weightless without that possibility keeping her down, “That I will forget you after this moment and never think of you again. But you, I am quite certain, will think about me every single day for the rest of your life.”

She visibly swallows, as if finally realizing the gravity of the situation, and tentatively asks, “And how long might that be?”

Leia had told Rey, privately before this assembly was called, that it would be her choice what punishment the Baroness and Paige received. Whatever she asked for, Kes would grant. And in this moment a hundred different punishments run through her mind. Sending them far away, locking them up, administering a whipping like the ones she’d so enjoyed doling out (she’s ashamed of the dark, vengeful thought, but it’s there), but in the end only one thing feels right.

“All I ask, Your Majesties, is that you show her the same courtesy that she has bestowed upon me. A life of hard work and service.”

The blood rushes from the Baroness’s face, her skin ashen and grey, and she looks ready to argue, but Leia smiles and nods, sealing her fate.

“An excellent idea, my dear.” Kes smiles, sharing a look of approval with Leia before addressing the Baroness again. “The two of you shall be sent to work in the laundry in the village. Perhaps there you will learn the value of humility and kindness.” Guards move forward to take the Baroness and Paige into custody, but before they can remove them from the room Kes holds up his hands. “We have one other matter of business to attend to today before we adjourn. Master Finn and Lady Rose, if you could step forward please.”

Rey walks the rest of the way down the center aisle to stand next to Poe, taking his hand and curling her lips over her teeth and pressing them together to hide her laughter at Finn’s open mouth. He looks so totally bewildered that it’s comical, and Rose isn’t faring much better. The two of them skittish at being on the receiving end of the direct attention of their king.

“Master Finn, for services to the crown and your brave act of defending our princess from danger, even in the face of certain death, we have decided to bestow upon you the recently vacated Kenobi estate and all its lands and resources. We have also decided to grant you the title of Viscount of Tuanul, and should you take a wife,” He pauses, his eyes twinkling as he looks over at Rose, “She would be a viscountess.”

There’s less shock from the audience about this announcement than Rey’s, but she’s not surprised. Courtiers must be used to people receiving titles and estates fairly often. But the Baroness, if already angry before, looks positively furious now that the boy she always despised and her daughter will rank higher than she ever did, but she’s forced out of the room by the guards before she can say anything and ruin the moment.

With that, Kes declares that everyone may adjourn and Poe guides Rey out of the room, beckoning for Finn and Rose to follow.

The second they’re in the smaller room just off the great hall with the door closed, Finn grabs Rey by the shoulders and pulls her in for a hug. “Was this your idea?”

“Absolutely!” Rey laughs. “The Queen asked what I wanted to happen to my father’s estate now that it's empty, and I know no one will take better care of it than the two of you. It's always been my dream to see it thriving again. Plus,” She leans back, cocking her head with a teasing smile, “I think Rose deserves something a little more to live on than an artist’s salary, don’t you think? Even one as brilliant as you.”

“I would have been happy with an artist for a husband,” Rose quickly jumps in, placing her hand on Finn’s arm, and he chuckles and covers it with his own.

“I appreciate that, sweetheart, but you and I both know you’ll be much happier in a proper house than a tiny studio.”

“And now Finn can paint as often as he likes,” Rey adds, and Rose finally allows herself to relax.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Her voice trails off suggestively, and they all laugh together. The room so full of joy it’s almost palpable.

“You can make an honest woman out of her at last.” Poe claps Finn on the shoulder with a playful grin while Rose blushes, and Rey pokes him in the ribs.

“I thought princes were supposed to be charming. Stop teasing them!”

But Poe merely laughs and gathers her in his arms, reaching up to straighten the crown on top of her head and letting his fingertips trail down her cheek and across her jaw. “And I think we, princess, are supposed to live happily ever after.”

“Says who?” She smiles, eyelids fluttering at his gentle touch.

“You know, I don’t know.” Poe laughs and then captures her lips in a rapturous kiss, leaving her with just one coherent thought.

_Maybe fairytales can come true after all._

~ _fin ~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan has always been for the last chapter (21) to be about their wedding night. I anticipate the rating will go up, and I'll change it accordingly at that time. If that doesn't interest you, then at this point you can consider the story finished. 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read and support my attempt at giving Rey and Poe their happily ever after! <3
> 
> XOXO,  
> Daisy


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